Battle Armour
by the crooked typewriter
Summary: Arthur wears the armour and runs into battle. Merlin fixes each piece when its over. That's the way it's always been. And yet, Merlin's the one riddled with scars, and Arthur seems to be the only one that keeps noticing.
1. Chapter 1

For Joshua

* * *

**Battle Armour**

A Fifteen Chapter Story Correlating to Each Piece of Armour Arthur Wears

* * *

**1\. Greaves**

a. Shin and calf protection

* * *

Arthur let his finger trail along the edge of his goblet one last time, relishing the quiet morning. It wasn't often he got such leisure. Easy enough to get lost in a day's worth of training and banquets and meetings. He let his shoulders relax, his eyes close.

"Funny," he muttered. "That even when I'm _supposed_ to be relaxing, I find myself thinking about why it's so _quiet."_

He opened his eyes again.

And there was Merlin, paused in his work, blinking innocently at the prince of Camelot.

"What?" Merlin said.

"I said, _Mer_lin, that you're being too quiet."

"There really is no pleasing you."

Arthur snorted. "What is _wrong_ with you today?"

Merlin looked at the pile of laundry piled high in his arms, then back at Arthur. Laundry to Arthur.

"Nothing," was Merlin's final answer.

The two left it at that, and Arthur went back to picking at his breakfast.

A small sound first. Then a muffled curse. Then all the laundry fell to the ground.

"Sorry, Sire, sorry, sorry."

Arthur was up, chair scraping against his bedroom floors, closing the space between him and his manservant. Merlin halfheartedly scooted away, pulling the laundry into his lap.

"Have you been at the tavern again?"

Merlin shook his head.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

He went back to his table, though his breakfast was cold and his morning was disrupted. His knights would be waiting for him on the training grounds soon, and his laundry bloody well should be finished by now-

"Is there something," Merlin's voice drifted through the room, barely above a whisper, hoarse even. Pitiful. "That I could use to mop up…"

Arthur laughed. "How about a _mop, _Merlin_?_ You really are thick."

He thought he would turn around, clock Merlin over the head for another stupid question, and why on earth would he ask Arthur, of all people, of all times of day…

But there was blood on the floor. Smeared. In long trails of rust on his floor.

"Just tripped, sire," came Merlin's reply. "I'll wipe it up though. Promise."

Arthur blinked twice, staring long and hard at Merlin's shin.

"Just tripped?"

Merlin wet his lips. "Yep."

"Well that's bloody unlikely."

Arthur brushed past him, toward the door, feeling Merlin's eyes on the back of his head. He called for a guard to grab Gauis, or someone with an inkling on what to do with such a clumsy, useless manservant. Then, once they had hurried off, Arthur returned to where Merlin stood, slowly dripping blood onto his bedroom floor.

_His bedroom floor!_

"Sit _down,_ Merlin, before you stain my flooring."

Merlin sat.

"It's not much, really. I'll just wait for it to stop bleeding and I'll get back to work," Merlin said quickly. "No need to call Gauis, he's always so busy, and I'm learning enough I can take care of my own wound. Really."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. The boy's hand was covered in blood, pressed half-heartedly to the slash on his leg. It looked serious enough, especially with the edging of dark-

"Are those stitches?" Though Arthur didn't need to ask. He had seen plenty of stitches in his lifetime. "R_ipped_ stitches?"

"It's not that serious. The bleeding'll stop soon."

Arthur shook his head. "Not buying it, Merlin."

He took one of his shirts from the laundry pile, handing it to Merlin who just blinked at it slowly.

"You'll have to clean it or discard it afterward, but it's old anyway," Arthur said, shaking the cloth in front of his servant's face. "Do whatever you've been _so diligently _training to do and then get Gauis to look at it. Just in case. I expect you back to work by dinner tonight."

He turned back to his breakfast, not really intending to eat, but not intending to show Merlin any more sympathy either.

_"Go_, Merlin."

"Yes, Sire."

Back into the chair, setting his feet up on the table. He picked up his goblet again, but found he couldn't drink the wine. It looked like a certain someone's blood.


	2. Chapter 2

**2\. Cuisse**

a. Upper leg and knee protection

b. Has stop rims for jousting and such to stop blows from getting to groin.

* * *

His father walked slowly, eyes glazed as he watched his kingdom below. He was always extra slow on tournament days, lost in reminiscent memories of his glorious victories. Arthur wanted to go quicker, but there was no rushing the king.

"Remember, you showing weakness now will not be easily forgotten when you are crowned king," his father said, not looking him in the eye. Instead, he watched the young servant raking tournament stadium. The motion was almost hypnotizing as the lines trailed behind him in wide circles, tracing the pattern of the fence that would separate jousters from each other. Separate Arthur from his competitors.

He looked closer.

_"Is that Merlin?" _Arthur thought, eyes squinting in the morning sunlight.

His father was still talking. "And when you win, you are to win gracefully. Do you understand, my son?"

Arthur peeled his eyes away. "Yes, father. I won't let you down."

"Good."

They stood there another moment, Arthur watching Merlin's careful movements, Uther no doubt already envisioning a roaring crowd. All the expectations on his shoulders felt heavier then, heavier than the armour he would be putting on in hours, heavier than the weapons he would hold. It was the weight of pride-his father's and his own, balancing in between those bloody stupid lines in the sand.

"I should go practice," Arthur said hastily, anger bubbling too close to the surface for comfort. His father nodded his consent, and he quickly descended the stairs, down past his bedroom where he knew Merlin wouldn't be, and into the grassy fields surrounding the castle he dared call home.

Merlin and his _bloody rake_ kept dragging across the sand, loop after loop, as Arthur found his tent and growled at the clean armour on the table. Merlin being punctual wasn't what he needed then. He wasn't sure _what_ he needed then, but it wasn't that. Definitely not.

_"Merlin!"_ Arthur yelled, eyeing the table like he could snap it all in half with a blink. "Merlin, I know that it's you with that bloody annoying rake!"

He balanced both hands on the table and _flipped_, the armour flying in every direction with a resounding crash that would surely bring Merlin in a_ little bloody faster._

There was a general scuffle before Merlin's dusty form appeared in the doorway, hair a shade lighter, skin two shades darker from the dirty arena.

"Yes, sire?" came the breathless reply, Merlin leaning heavily on the rake. "Sorry I wasn't there to dress you this morning, but I was told to come ready the tournament grounds before the opponents arrive-"

"I don't _care, Merlin._ Just get me ready. I want to practice."

Merlin faltered. "But...none of your knights are here yet."

"I know, _Mer_lin. That's why I brought _two_ lances."

Merlin's eyes widened with recognition, but to his credit he didn't complain, even when he had to go down on his knees to pick up the pieces Arthur had thrown. He went about putting his rake down, dusting himself off, readying his master for the layers of perfectly-fitted armour. Greaves first, as always, with their masterful straps and shining creases.

Merlin let out a slow, measured breath. "I'll have to hammer out some of these dents before the rest of the armour."

Arthur saw Merlin had hammered out the dents he had received from training just yesterday. And he didn't quite feel bad about it, but he did feel a prickle of something for a fleeting second at the fact that he had just dented more.

"Just do it quick."

Merlin sat with his skinny legs crossed, looking like a spider in the dirtiest corner of the cellar, bringing each piece into his lap before quickly hammering out each dent. Arthur half expected him to start _whistling._ He looked that happy.

And Arthur thought of how absolutely _lucky_ Merlin was. Merlin didn't have all these expectations weighing on him. Merlin didn't have to fight to earn and defend his title-a title he didn't quite fully understand or want yet. Merlin didn't have to worry about legacy or legend. He just had to make sure Arthur was up in the morning, fed, and dressed for the day.

_Good lord, _Arthur thought. _He even makes _that_ look difficult._

Merlin worked fast after that, keeping one eye on Arthur as he readied the rest of the armour pieces, working up from greaves to cuisses, and upward. He looked him once in the eye, just as he slid the helmet over his master's head.

"Took you long enough," Arthur muttered, shouldering his lance and giving the other to Merlin. "C'mon then, Merlin, grab the lance. Don't be such a girl."

Merlin hesitated. "I don't know how to joust, Sire."

"Then you _better learn fast."_

Merlin took the weapon, holding it in both hands like just _looking_ at it might hurt him.

"C'mon, Merlin," Arthur said, slapping his back. "You don't have to worry about hurting me. I'm much to good at this. Besides, I've got a tournament to win, I'm not wasting my energy on my manservant."

"I'm not worried. I just don't want to ruin the field I just raked all morning."

Arthur turned to mount his horse as Merlin did the same, and they trotted onto the sand, Merlin visibly flinching as the horse hooves mussed the clean pattern.

"Right, then, Merlin!" Arthur called as he clipped over to the other side of the arena. "Hold the fancy stick like _this,_ and point it at me."

"It's sharp,_" _Merlin said, eyes wide.

Arthur snorted. "Merlin, it's _supposed _to be sharp."

Merlin was grumbling, but it was lost in the wind and distance. Probably something about Arthur and his tournaments being barbaric and bloodthirsty. It usually was.

"I'll count off, and then we'll charge. Keep it locked under your armpit!"

"What?" Merlin cupped one of his ridiculous ears. Arthur adjusted his lance, already anticipating how it would feel to make the last blow, to win the tournament, see a glimmer of something, _anything_ in his dad's eyes…

"Set, go!"

Arthur charged. Merlin's horse tip-toed in an awkward circle.

Arthur's lance was locked. Merlin's was loose.

Arthur was positioned to make a clean hit...but Merlin's lance was pointed sideways, and his horse was ready to jump, so he dropped his hit low.

His horse bucked; Merlin's bucked. A loud crack. Arthur's armor jangled. His horse turned and Arthur leapt off, landing with a jarring thud on the ground. Dust swirled around him, kicked up all over again by his spooked horse.

"My word, Merlin," Arthur coughed. "If you aren't the _worst_ jouster I've ever seen in my whole li…"

Dust cleared, and the worst jouster in the world was on the ground.

"Merlin?"

Merlin didn't answer.

"Not funny, Merlin."

Still nothing. Not a twitch of recognition.

Arthur yanked off his helmet—it hit the ground at the same speed he did. His hands hovered as he tried to assess damage-he couldn't remember hitting anything, let alone _Mer_lin.

He didn't...he never…

Arthur was panicking. _Not_ because he cared about Merlin, but because he didn't want this life on his hands. Not by accident. Not by a practice round. There was no honor in that.

He pulled off a glove, putting his fingers on Merlin's neck, not quite sure what thrum of rhythm was his own racing heart and what might be his manservant's.

_"Prat,"_ came a pain-laced reply through gritted teeth. _"Don't touch me."_

Arthur pulled up, hands pulled back as if he had gotten too close to a flame. He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"You're hurt. I thought you were dead."

It was easier to say it now, now that he knew he wasn't.

Merlin shifted in the gravel. "I-_hrrn-_I think it's my leg."

In synchrony, they looked toward Merlin's feet. One leg was twisted.

"What, you're telling me you're not really that flexible?" Arthur tried to joke, his stomach dropping. Their horses still pranced in the arena; their hooves looking more and more dangerous the longer the two young men were on the ground. "Can you move?"

Merlin shifted again. His face paled as he managed to prop himself up on his elbows, then immediately he started to try to push Arthur out of the way.

"Move!" Merlin shoved again, just as he began to vomit. Arthur barely got out of the way in time.

"I'll get the knights. You need Gauis," Arthur said quickly, still backpedalling out of the way. "Merlin, something's got to be broken."

Merlin keened a mellow note, still twisted on the ground, chest heaving.

"Don' really want you to," he said.

"I'm not really giving you a choice."

Merlin groaned again, lowering himself back onto the ground. Arthur got up and started to walk out of the stadium. "Hang in there, Merlin! I'll be back! Don't choke on your own spit up and die, all right?"

His manservant didn't budge, didn't take the bait of the joke.

"I've ruined the tournament grounds," he mourned.

Arthur shook his head, exasperated. But jogged a bit faster. Just in case.

By the time Arthur had gotten back to Merlin with enough knights to carry the manservant comfortably (or as comfortably as it gets with a broken leg) to Gauis, Merlin was looking even more green, even less conscious. The pool of vomit was bigger.

Sir Leon frowned, his shadow crossing over Merlin's body, shielding it from the powerful morning sun. Arthur knew he was looking at the hoof prints, Merlin, their discarded lances and putting together the storyline.

"I think," Arthur cleared his throat, "that you should move Merlin here sooner rather than later. I don't want the villagers to see him just lying on the ground. It will look poor, to have a dead-looking body before the tournament ever begins."

"Of course, sire." Leon bent to cradle Merlin's head. Sir Cador moved to lift.

_"Gnnh," _Merlin stirred, eyelids fluttering. "Who…?"

Sir Leon's frown deepened. "I am Sir Leon, Knight of Camelot. We're moving you to Gauis' quarters. It will be easier if you sleep through this, young man. You're not well."

"Felt worse," Merlin attempted to shrug, but winced. "I'll walk."

"You most certainly will not," Leon countered. "Sir Cador, if you would."

Sir Cador piled Merlin into his arms, Leon balancing his upper body. Merlin's left leg thudded against the knight's arm.

Merlin sucked in a sharp breath, eyes squeezed tight. _"Bloody hell."_

Arthur took a hesitant step toward his tent, away from Merlin's dangling, detached-looking leg and his pain-filled, tight words.

"I've got to get ready for the tournament," Arthur said lamely.

"Of course, Sire," Leon said, adjusting his grip on Merlin, who's breathing had become labored and rough. "Good luck."

"Thank you."

Arthur turned, walked away. Merlin would heal. It was mostly Merlin's fault anyway. He'd need a new servant to get him ready. His helmet was still lying in the sand in the arena.

He walked back into the stadium, only to retrieve his helmet, and not because he felt guilty.

Merlin was already gone.

* * *

Arthur had won the tournament, as expected of him. His father had nodded at him, which was more than he expected, more than he probably deserved. It felt too easy, because he delivered clean blow after clean blow even as his mind wandered…

He gingerly touched his ribs, feeling the one hit that his armour didn't spare him from. He'd had broken ribs before, and it felt scarily similar. He'd have to go to Gauis.

He shucked off the rest of his armour, letting them hit the ground as he went throughout his tent. The cheers from his victory still resounded in his head as the villagers all went back to their normal lives, their circus over, back to the daily work and bread. He always felt the most known after a win, the most understood. _That_ was when he was Prince Arthur of Camelot.

But he was out the tent flap before his mind could wander too much from his ribs. The pain was at a throb, just sharp enough to keep shattering his thoughts. Arthur thought that was fine, as the more he thought, the more he wished he didn't.

His dinner with father would be unbearable.

Arthur knocked once on Gauis' door, letting himself in with a turn of a wrist and a shove with his shoulder.

"Hello, Gauis, thought I'd drop by, my ribs are giving me a bit of trouble."

Gaius' white head popped up before him, his crooked finger pressed to his lips in urgency. Arthur jumped, stepping away from the physician and back into the hallway.

"He's sleeping, sire!" Gauis said.

"Who's sleeping?"

Gaius' eyebrow raised. "Merlin, sire."

Arthur's eyes scrunched, thinking, then remembering. _Merlin's leg._

"I-," Arthur stuttered. "I almost forgot. Will he be back to work tomorrow?"

Gauis blinked a few times, then stepped to the side and opened his palm outward. A signal for Arthur to enter his domain. Arthur wasn't use to having to wait for signals to enter.

He dipped his head, and slipped inside the small physicians quarters.

What hit him first was this _stench_ like nothing he'd ever smelled before.

He covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve, refusing to make noise despite his brain yelling '_my word, what's that awful smell?'_

It seemed to be stemming from…from _Merlin_.

Merlin lay on the patient's bed, leg propped up on a crate. The fowl smell bloomed from what seemed to be green paste all over his leg. A few flies perched on it, their feet sticking to the still-wet plaster.

"What happened, Gauis?" Arthur whispered.

"I was hoping _you_ would be able to answer that."

Arthur shook his head, eyes trained on Merlin, who looked so small in the bed—barely took up half of it—and his face was pale, meaning someone took the time to wash off all that dirt. There wasn't much of Merlin. He was…Arthur saw just how young he was, how…human?

Arthur scoffed at himself. _Of course_ Merlin was human.

Still.

"We were jousting," Arthur said flatly, not looking away from Merlin and his leg. His leg that _Arthur broke_.

Gauis' eyes went wide. "Merlin doesn't know how to joust."

"Well, he didn't learn then, either."

Just then, Merlin shifted, forehead creasing as he woke.

"Take it easy, my boy," Gauis said, brushing past Arthur to his bedside. "There's no rushing something like this."

"I thought I heard someone," Merlin mumbled, his voice hoarse.

Arthur took a step back. He wasn't supposed to be there.

He watched as Gaius gave the boy a vial, watched as he downed it in one go and a grimace.

"It was no one, my boy," Gaius said after Merlin started to look drowsy again, eyelids fluttering as he sunk deeper into the cot. "A no one very sorry to see you this way."

Merlin seemed to smile, as if he recognized the gibe even under one of Gaius' concoctions. Almost seemed like he was smiling right at him, though his eyes were unfocused and heavy-lidded.

"Arthur? Did he win?"

Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it again.

He left before Gauis could bind his ribs.

He locked his door before his father could chastise him for it.

* * *

A note: _These chapters will get longer the more Arthur starts to get to know Merlin-he'll start to pick up on details, on Merlin's habits, on his own inabilities and weaknesses, and that will reflect in the chapters. That means, right now, they're both early on in the series, moving forward as it fits between episodes. The story will grow alongside of Arthur and Merlin's relationship-for this story's sake, that's purely platonic. Updates are going to be, quite frankly, sporadic. But, I re-broke my arm (in the same place I broke it in February) and now have some forced-upon free time._

_I'm writing this for a jerk, so I've binged a few seasons and hoped I picked up on a few things in my Medieval lit course. If there is anything inaccurate, feel free to let me know. I'm sure Josh will. Jerk._


	3. Chapter 3

**3\. Maille skirt**

a. Protection for the groin and where the armour attaches

* * *

Arthur didn't _want_ to find Merlin.

He wasn't even _looking_ for him. Not one bit. Practically had his eyes closed.

Yet there the idiot was, curled up in a ball, in the middle of the corridor, crutches thrown, his barely healed leg askew.

"Merlin," Arthur said, trying to ignore the way his heart hammered in his chest. "Merlin, come on. Is this some sort of prank?"

He seemed to gurgle out some sort of response.

"Merlin?"

A high-pitched whine.

Arthur looked both ways, dropping his weapon with an exaggerated sigh before stooping to look at Merlin's face buried in the cobblestone floor. There was blood smeared from his nose and over his top lip, dark but fresh. His eyes were unfocused, yet still managed to look pitifully puppy-like.

_What was he even saying?_ Arthur shook his head abruptly.

"What happened? The wall won, I suppose?"

Merlin's face contorted. More blood bubbled onto his lip.

"No."

That one word seemed to take all the air Merlin had fought for.

"What was it then?" Arthur looked around him, readying his next joke. Then he saw tracks—just signs of scuffle on the dusty floors—and it was enough to have the joke die young. "Merlin, how many of them were there?"

His tone was serious. _He _was serious.

_No one treated his servants this way._

_ Not without serious consequences._

Merlin was trying to push himself back to his feet.Each movement Merlin made sent tremors up his arms, sending him backwards in his progress.

"Don't get up," Arthur said, sounding far too angry for his own liking. He meant to say it kindly, or composed at least. "You'll only hurt yourself worse."

"I—" Merlin collapsed this time, back into a heap, hands curling back around his abdomen. The blood on his top lip finally broke past the ridge and slid down into his mouth. He spat, then took in a shaky breath. _"I don't really want you to see me like this."_

"I'm not looking." Arthur was looking. More like studying. "Or I won't look. I'll walk off in the other direction the moment you tell me who did this to you. I don't take beating servants lightly. There's no honor in-in—" He motioned to Merlin, to his bloody face and breathy voice.

There was silence for a moment. Silence Arthur had come to associate with something horribly, terribly wrong.

"I just want Gaius," Merlin said quietly. "Please, just…help me get to him."

Arthur watched as Merlin stayed curled in his tight ball, using one had to inch himself against the wall to sit half-upright. As if he was trying to get away. As if he didn't trust Arthur not to add another fist to his crooked nose.

"I will." Arthur moved closer. "Merlin, I swear to you I will. Just tell me who did it and Gauis will be right here."

Was that a sour move? Probably. Arthur didn't care much at the moment. He was barely controlling his rage.

"Four of the court servants."

Arthur opened his mouth, but Merlin wasn't finished.

"They caught me off guard, and with my crutches I couldn't fight back—I tried, but they kicked my knees out from under me and…and then they went for the next most tender spot." Merlin buried his head between his knees, struggling to drag in breath after breath. A bruise was already forming on his neck. Four finger prints.

Arthur fought harder to swallow.

He could practically feel a punch aimed for his own groin, the invisible hand closing around his neck. He saw the scene fold out in front of him, watched the men as they danced through the steps he saw in the dust, tossing Merlin to the ground and kicking him senseless.

"And then they left you here. After attacking a defenseless boy—no, a _defenseless injured_ boy—they just left you here? Unacceptable. I need names."

"I didn't know them."

_"Names_, Merlin."

"I don't _know,_ Arthur!" Merlin shouted, chest heaving, more blood dripping into his mouth. "And why on earth would I tell _you_ if I did? So that you could go on a rampage, fire every servant you have to do what? To prove a point? To prove that no one can mess with the prince of Camelot, he'll have you in the stocks for a month and all your pay raked out from under your nose before you can plead your case!"

Arthur saw red.

He picked Merlin up by the shoulders, straight up, and watched the fear in his manservant's eyes as his long legs hovered above the ground.

"Listen to me, _Mer_lin, because for as large of ears you have you don't use them that often. I am the crown prince of Camelot—what I say in my father's castle is as good as law. I _might_ go firing every servant I have and if that gets a point across, well then thank heavens _something_ gets through your thick skull, because I do not exist just to torment you, you idiot. Its not because I like you, and its not because I hate you. These men were out of line, and it is _my job_ to show them what happens when you use strength for evil. I…"

Arthur was losing steam. He saw more clearly then.

What Merlin's eyes reflected wasn't fear. It was pain. Resigned pain.

He nearly dropped him straight back onto the floor, straight back into the heap he had found him in.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Merlin. I didn't mean to—"

"'Soright." Merlin kept one hand tight against his stomach, the other out to brace himself on the wall. "Needed some help getting up anyway. I'm sorry for yelling, Sire."

Arthur was shaking. He couldn't tell if it was from anger residue or from nearly strangling his manservant himself.

"I'll…I'll grab your crutches."

He took the two wooden sticks and handed them to Merlin, who took them hesitantly. Then, tucking one under each arm, he slowly started to make his way back down the corridor.

"Merlin," Arthur called after a moment of watching him go. "When you said… when you said that I would rake pay out from under them before they could plead their case…I hope you know I wouldn't. I wouldn't do that."

Merlin looked into Arthur's eyes. "Prove it to us, then, Sire."

"Prove what?"

"That you care."

Arthur dropped his gaze. Surely, Merlin knew that he protected his servants as best he could—the same could be said for all citizens of Camelot. He took it as his honor and duty do to so. He didn't need to prove anything, that idiot, because every day he got up in the morning to practice for a time when he would be called to fight for his people—servants included.

What better way to show his people that he cared than with a sword?

Arthur found himself drawn to where he had laid his weapon down so he could stoop to check on Merlin. It still lay there.

_Prove that he cared?_

Arthur couldn't think of any other way.


	4. Chapter 4

**4\. Breastplate**

a. Protection for the chest

* * *

[Placed within _The Last Dragonlord_ episodes timeline, though slightly altered.]

* * *

Arthur walked through the halls of his home, seeing the hauntingly large amount of his own people, citizens of Camelot, lying on makeshift cots; Gaius, Gwen, and other makeshift nurses working double overtime to treat them all.

Arthur hugged his ribs. His injuries were healed, yet his chest ached all the same.

Making his way through yet another corridor of moaning patients, he clambered up the way to Gaius' quarters. The pain in his heart must be abnormal. That was why he searched. Not to find a certain manservant he hadn't seen since the dragon…

He brought his hands out of his locked position to gently pull open the door, being greeted by the earthy smells of the physician's sleepless brewing and tending. The small rooms were even more cramped as usual, the most dire of wounds set on every surface. With a frown, Arthur realized that included Merlin's room as well.

Gaius' white head appeared in front of him. "Arthur! Gwen told me you were unscathed! I should have known to check again!"

The old man had deep set bruises under his eyes, his hair as frantic-looking as his eyes. Arthur quickly held up his hands to placate him, trying to force an easy smile on his lips.

"I'm all right, Gaius. I'm fine. I came up here to check on…everyone."

Gaius opened and closed his mouth. Nodded choppily.

"Of course, Sire. We are doing the best we can."

Arthur's eyes unwillingly gravitated to the man lying on the cot closest to the fire, his blanket hollow where his left leg should have been.

"I shouldn't have let this happen. I should have killed it sooner."

Gaius, shuffled back to his work table, answering to the hoarse call of a patient in Merlin's room. "Sire, this is the result of a conflict held out for far too long, for no good reason other than fear itself. We have generations to hold accountable. All of this—" Gaius picked up two vials of green-brown liquid, waving them in a large circle. "—is too much to sit on one young man's shoulders."

For some reason, Arthur almost got the idea Gaius wasn't talking about him.

"Thank you." Arthur cleared his throat. "I mean, I should go. I'm distracting you."

"You didn't mind distracting Gwen."

Arthur's eyes went wide. He felt a blush creep into his cheeks.

All of a sudden, he didn't want to mention the ache in his heart to him.

Arthur whipped his gaze around the room one last time, just to make sure he really didn't see him, and left.

He started to close the door, but it was taken from his hand.

"Oh, and Arthur," Gaius said, vials still in his hold. "Merlin might have to spend the night in your quarters. Quite frankly, I'm out of room."

"He could stay in the servant's quarters," Arthur said. Almost reflexively. He wasn't there to check on Merlin, wasn't even thinking about him.

"That is full as well. There are quite a few misplaced in the castle." Gaius must have seen the look on his face. "Only for a night, Sire. I am only asking as a last resort."

Arthur tried for another smile, this one less successful. "I can barely stand the man for a day shift."

"You'll get a taste how I feel."

Arthur gave his consent, Gaius thanked him, and the door closed swiftly behind him.

* * *

Arthur nearly collapsed across the darkened threshold of his bedroom.

Hours had melded, him staring at the casualties for longer, then longer still as each name melded together. Some were his men. All of them were his responsibility.

The papers only needed his signature. He read them as if they needed proofreading. He wanted each letter melded into the back of his eyelids.

Lords and ladies, he was exhausted.

Yet he knew he wouldn't sleep.

He threw his boots off in whatever his fatigued sword arm went.

A quiet _oompf_ made Arthur nearly jump.

"Tell me that's you, Merlin, and my room isn't haunted."

"Not yet Sire," came Merlin's voice, sounding miserable and low. Arthur figured he must be lying on the floor. "But when I die, I'll be sure to make enough time in my schedule to haunt it."

Arthur snorted, shucking off his sweat-covered shirt and tossing that as well. His wounds pinched, reminding him he was going too fast, as usual.

"Where's a bloody light in the place?" Arthur grumbled, reaching to light a candle set. "There. Now where are you, Merlin? You can't blame me if I step on you."

"Here." An arm waved by the cold fireplace.

Arthur marched over. "You didn't want to start the fire?"

"I didn't think you were coming in. It's late."

Arthur rolled his eyes, nearly snorting at Merlin's stupidity.

"I couldn't just light it for myself," Merlin protested quietly.

"You really could have. I didn't think you were that much of an idiot." Arthur took a candle, balanced it so he wouldn't get wax on his fingers, and set the logs alight. "There. Simple, _Mer_lin."

His manservant merely winced.

"I didn't know you were coming back."

"Why wouldn't I?" Arthur cried, nearly laughing. _Bloody hell, he was tired._

"Because I didn't know if you were still alive!" Merlin blurted, whipping up from where he sat to look Arthur in the eyes.

It didn't last long. Merlin slowly went back down, hissing.

Arthur went pale. "Merlin. What's happening."

He reached out, hands hovering over his servant's body—covered in cold sweat. His teeth were chattering.

Arthur made himself look closer, not to look away, head to bed.

Made his hands graze across Merlin's neck, forehead, back of his head. Checking for the scary injuries. Fine, if Merlin wasn't going to tell him where he was hurt. Then he would just go lower.

"Haah," Merlin's voice rose an octave as Arthur touched his chest. "C'mon, careful! You're going to undo all my hard work."

Arthur glared, peeling Merlin's shirt up slowly. Merlin's arms unfolded and fell to his sides.

Four gashes. Long and angry red. Barely closed by ugly thread.

Arthur's stomach flipped. "Merlin this needs Gaius. What kind of stitching job is this?"

"A bad one," Merlin groaned. "I know. He was just…there are so many injured."

"And you're one of them!"

Merlin attempted to shrug. It looked pitiful. "Not as bad. 'Can handle it."

Arthur stoked the fire with a kick with his bare foot. The logs chattered and popped. He took a few deep breaths.

"Fine. If you don't go to Gaius, I'll just…I'll have to be Gaius for a night."

Merlin scooted away. "No. No. Arthur-Sire. No."

"This will get infected." Arthur poked at his shoulder. Merlin winced again. "And I can do a hell of a lot better of a job than you can, obviously."

Merlin tried to pull his shirt closer around him as Arthur pulled it off. He now noticed the flecks of blood.

Looking at his bed again before making a show of getting up and fetching his small kit he brought hunting, he plucked out the needle and thread.

Merlin shook his head weakly. "Please just leave me alone."

"Leave you alone to die of blood loss and infection? Only to have you come back and haunt my castle? Nope."

Merlin took a few shallow breaths. "I might pass out."

"Any man might. Go ahead. It'll make my job easier."

Arthur helped prop him against the wall. Merlin closed his eyes.

He started in, snipping each old stitch before adding a new, cleaner one instead. Merlin looked like he was holding his breath.

"Just pass out already, Merlin," Arthur muttered through his concentration.

_"Can't." _

"Fine."

Arthur tried not to think about when this injury happened, or from what, even though it was clear that the answers were _too long ago_ and _that bloody dragon._ He still couldn't believe he had killed it. Before it killed Merlin, it seemed.

_Too close,_ his heart screamed. His head squashed it quickly.

Four more stitches exchanged. Four of fifty, Arthur guessed.

"There's not much to talk about, is there? When you're stitching someone's innards back inside them?" Arthur teased. Merlin's eyes were still squeezed shut.

"I'm just trying not to vomit, Sire."

Arthur smiled. A real one. The first real one in a while. "Arthur."

"What?" One eye peeked up at him.

"You can call me Arthur. Just for now. This…you took this in my place."

Merlin whimpered as Arthur finished another ten stitches. Then another five.

"Well then," Merlin said through clenched teeth. _"Screw you_, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur barked out a laugh. Another ten. He was getting faster now, even though his fingers were starting to get slippery with blood. Merlin still hadn't passed out. He selfishly hoped he would. The silence—only punctuated by Merlin's occasional pain-filled sound—felt heavy and awkward.

What could he fill it with? What he wanted to say was that he didn't proved himself, that his people were under attack and he had every chance to protect them, defend them, show him—no, _them_ that he cared. His sword was dented and bloodied with how much he cared. His body was battered with how much he cared.

And he failed.

Half his kingdom was fighting now, fighting to stay alive, inside his home on cots and mats and straw, sometimes on nothing at all. He wasn't fast enough, strong enough, or smart enough to put meaning behind his words.

He stitched in the last knot. His spool was nearly empty.

"Merlin." Arthur took his shoulder, set on shaking him back to consciousness. He was met with a sweaty palm over his wrist. "Ah, so you didn't pass out? Not once?"

Merlin shook his head miserably. "It feels all tight and wrong."

Arthur assumed he was talking about his chest. "No, Merlin. That's how good stitches are supposed to feel. You're welcome."

Merlin sucked in a broken breath. "I can't move."

"Then don't." He stood, pressing Merlin against the wall again. "How did you say it? 'Careful. You're going to undo all my hard work.'"

Merlin wet his cracked lips. "I should go. I shouldn't be here."

"Actually, you should. No one else wants you." Arthur quickly rephrased when he saw his servant's shoulders droop. "What I mean to say is Gaius has your room filled with patients. He said for you to say here tonight. And I said yes."

Merlin looked up at Arthur. "Yeah?"

"Of course."

Arthur turned to put on his night shirt, contemplating whether or not he should even be contemplating if Merlin should get a pillow. He figured he should, yes, since he was injured, and Arthur was the one that fixed that. Part of healing was sleep. Sleep didn't come easy on a stone floor.

There, he decided it. Merlin gets a pillow because he was hurt.

He took one off his bed and knelt down next to his manservant again, glad the warmth from the fire was finally melting into the boy's skin.

His eyes were closed. But this time, when Arthur shook him, he barely noticed.

"About time, you stubborn mule." He tucked the pillow under his neck and adjusted him so he was lying flat, turned to face far enough away from the flames.

Then, only double-checking his handiwork twice to make sure he hadn't broken a stitch in the process, Arthur collapsed into bed. Blood still on his fingers of his sore sword arm. He had images in his head, images he didn't want to see ever again. Like Gwen under the dragon's gaze. Like Merlin's wounded chest.

His heart ached, if it was even possible, worse.


	5. Chapter 5

**5\. Plackart**

a. Protection for the lower torso

* * *

Lines etched deep around his eyes, his forehead. The sorcerer in front of him was short, with wide hands stretched upward as rubbish words poured from his mouth. The dark clouds swayed, as if they were arguing whether to obey this devil's command or stay in the heavens. Every time Arthur charged to strike the man down, he was held back by some sort of invisible force.

Leon on his left made another hack with his sword, unable to cross this border either. Merlin was probably hiding behind a tree or whatever he did when the battle got toughest. Arthur didn't acknowledge the fact that part of him was grateful he was safe.

The sky around them was steadily darkening, and the Knights around him struggled to stay on their feet. Arthur could only see Leon, who was directly next to him, and barely his own sword in front of him. Trees groaned, and branches fell with loud, unpredictable _cracks._ After another moment of battling forward, Arthur couldn't see the sorcerer at all.

"Sire—" Leon yelled over the howling wind. "We need to regroup. He's too powerful—"

Then the wind vanished. The dark clouds peeled back to reveal a sunny green light through the tree canopy. He could see his knights again, and his sword, and the carnage strewn about the forest floor.

And his sorcerer, who had been causing trouble for weeks in the village outskirts, lay in a heap.

Arthur quickly urged his men forward, rushing up with sword poised to finish off the monster.

But the closer he got the more he realized something was wrong.

"Leon," Arthur said, trying to keep his voice even.

Sir Leon knelt next to the sorcerer and what looked at first to be a peasant boy underneath him, one arm still wrapped around the older man's neck. Except they were in the middle of nowhere with no peasants to be seen and _the red neckerchief—_

_"Leon," _Arthur said again, as the knight pushed the devil off of Merlin. Neither stirred. "How did this happen? He was to stay behind with the horses…"

Arthur trailed off, seeing the coarse end of the sorcerer's staff embedded in Merlin's abdomen. There was no blood.

"He's ice cold, Sire," Leon said breathlessly. "Like a midwinter's night."

Blue traced Merlin's veins even as they spoke, webbing outward from the wound, weaving beneath the fabric of his clothes, and peeking back at the nape of his neck. Frost was even starting to gather on his lips.

Merlin took trembling, wet, gasping breaths that shook his entire frame.

Arthur felt a phantom the frost gathering, and his shivered.

"We need to get him away from here," Arthur said, unable to look away from the pulsing blue ends of the sorcerer's staff embedded in Merlin's torso. "Leon, take him. We ride hard back to Camelot immediately."

"But what about the sorcerer? We cannot leave him here in the open to rot—or worse, regenerate. And what about the damage done in the villages? We promised them aide—"

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, pulling his hands through his hair. This was just another causality, _just another casualty_—

"Then we split up. Leon, take the rest of the men into the villages to aid in the reconstruction. I'll take Merlin myself back to the head physician…see if there is anything he can do for him."

The group made stiff bows to him, each one making their way back to the cove _where Merlin was suppose to be _to find their horses. One of the knights stilled himself.

"Sire, just…be careful. Your life is extremely important. He is just a manservant."

Arthur nodded. Though his chest tightened at the words.

As he watched the knights recede in the distance, Arthur turned back toward Merlin, still barely breathing, ice steadily gathering.

"All right, Merlin," Arthur said softly. "Do I take the bloody stick out or do I leave it in?"

Of course, he didn't expect an answer.

"Leave it in, you bumbling idiot."

Arthur whipped around, hearing the words not from Merlin's mouth but from somewhere behind him within the trees. His sword was drawn, feet planted, and eyes roaming his surroundings. He barely noticed he was in a defensive stance, not offensive. A defensive stance _over Merlin._

He was going soft.

But he didn't change stances either.

"Don't touch the staff, I said. It's keeping the boy alive." The voice echoed again and made the skin on Arthur's neck crawl. Smooth, low, lilting with a Druid accent.

"Show yourself," Arthur commanded.

A woman stepped into his line of sight, tall and muscular in build with long graying hair bristling to her waist. She held a stick that looked identical to—

"It's a shovel!" the lady cursed as Arthur went to strike. "I am here only to bury my dead!"

Arthur snarled. "Stay away from me and my…my servant."

"An oath. _If_ you help me dig."

Arthur took a few steps back into his defensive position. "He's running out of time."

"Then we'll dig two."

Arthur swung again, this time closer to her head.

The druid woman held the shovel outward, eyes turning liquid gold before Arthur could realize what she was doing. He hit the ground and at the back of his skull snapped into the earth—

* * *

Arthur woke up to an awful pounding in his forehead. The air was thick with scents he couldn't nor desired to identify. He tried to wet his cracked lips, but was met with a nudge to his tongue, a lip of a vial. His eyes flew open.

"Get that away, Gaius—" His eyes met not with the patient old mentor but with a Druid woman. The Druid woman whose shovel was _not _just a shovel. _"You," _he said with all the malice he could muster.

The druid glowered. "You're awake already. Pity."

"Where am I? What did you do to me?"

The lady knelt, taking his head in her hands as Arthur tried to struggle free, but his body was sluggish and nausea kept sending him reeling. She looked him in the eye then, her gray hair trailing over his blonde. It itched.

"You're at our haven," she said simply after analyzing his neck, head, and eyes again. "I've been working on that nasty lump I caused."

"Who else is here but you?"

A low chuckle. "Me, and you, my dead husband, and your manservant."

The sorcerer.

_Merlin._

_ His blue lips, struggling for air…_

"Where's Merlin?" Arthur shouted, taking a fistful of her hair and pulling it. The lady snapped, eyes flashing gold, and his hand went limp.

Arthur felt as if every artery in his hand had disappeared. _"What did you do?_" he managed in nothing more than a frightened whisper. His sword arm. _His sword arm._

"Nothing you didn't deserve, good sir."

She started to walk away from his mat on the floor. But he couldn't let her get to Merlin before he did. Even if it the worst had already been done.

He took his good hand and pushed off the ground, using the momentum to stand, knees weak and head spinning. Trying to take stock of his surroundings in between the flashes of sickness, he zoned in on the druid's gray head and stumbled on.

"Don't touch him," he said through clenched teeth. "You vile old thing."

He pitched forward, knees giving out after a pitiful trial, braced himself for contact with the floor.

It never came, instead a strong force kept him upright and locked in place.

In front of the Druid woman.

"It is a good thing I have magic, hm?" the lady said. Arthur thought to spit, but he couldn't. "Listen now, young man, and learn something from this experience. Your servant faced off against a sorcerer for you, did he not? He killed my husband for you. Your servant's wound was not fatal, rather, it was expertly placed. A physician's hand."

Arthur didn't understand.

"Young man your servant stabbed himself to stop my husband from destroying your city. Your servant froze _every bone in his body_ to stop him, froze himself down to his very essence. My husband… he wasn't in the right mind anymore—he had found a way to steal magic from nearby resources to make himself temporarily stronger…If your servant hadn't known a place that would not kill himself, and the spell to stop his own magic from being used against him... I doubt either of us will be sitting here. That took more than just skill, it took bravery. And I'm… I am grateful to him for it."

Arthur couldn't get his jaw to work to tell her the ludicrous she was spewing.

Not Merlin. Merlin was… _Mer_lin. Not a sorcerer. Not a source of magic for a sorcerer. Certainly not some sort of martyr for him. Right? _Right?_

Something in the Druid's eyes switched. "You have no idea who he is, do you?" Her voice was soft…and…something else…

The woman turned, leaving Arthur to watch helplessly as she took back a thick quilt. There Merlin slept, his chest bare except for a large mass of tan bandages, sprinkled with some sort of yellow powder. His lips were still tinged blue but… the frost was gone. There was no sign of discomfort on his face, no gasping breaths.

_He's still alive, he's still alive, _Arthur chanted in his head, with no real way of knowing whether his mantra was true or not.

She placed the quilt back over him, and Arthur felt a warm rush of air. She was heating the quilt with her magic… yet Arthur couldn't summon up any disgust for the action.

"I'm sorry for you, young man," the old woman said, shaking her head as she guided him back to his mat. "What you see must be so… incomplete."

His hand panged in its numbness.

"Your friends will be here soon, I'm sure, but I am moving on anyway. This old house is to be my husband's gravesite. I won't visit it but… well, I can't do a burial by myself anyway."

Arthur couldn't tell if she was talking to herself or to him as she arranged his head back onto the mat, his arms at his side. Red hot shame grew in him as she pulled a blanket over his legs, nearly tucking him in.

"What a pity it was a head injury. You won't remember a thing, will you?"

* * *

When Arthur woke he was on horseback, cradled on a strong chest.

_His father._

He struggled to right himself but was met with a hand gripping like a vice on his shoulder. Arthur sagged, embarrassed and feeling weak. _On his father's lap_, God help him, he was too old for this sort of treatment.

"What happened, Arthur?" he heard Uther say quietly, his voice steely but controlled.

Arthur couldn't say.

"Then sleep again, lest I am tempted to say things I might regret."

Arthur tried. But his mind went in circles with his father's question: what _had_ happened? The sorcerer on the outskirts of Camelot, the wind, Merlin getting hurt badly. His knights went on to help the villagers. He stayed behind and was going to bring Merlin home, but someone came. And she wanted him to bury the sorcerer.

And then there was nothing but the strange feeling of blank space.

The ride home took twice as long with the pace of the search group, ever so careful of Arthur's head injury, which he had no idea how he received. And his sword arm…he was too scared to say a word of the pain to his father, but it was deep and shocking at each movement.

No one mentioned Merlin.

Gaius escorted him into his quarters, sitting him on the patient's bed to inspect his head, neck, and eyes. He was forced to drink four vials of putrid mixes of Gaius' design under his father's watchful eye. Only then did his father turn to go.

"Oh, and Gauis?" the king called over his shoulder. "He does not leave until he has given an explanation."

"Yes sire."

Arthur closed his eyes, settling against the wall behind him. His father's footsteps echoed from the hallway beyond.

"Memory loss, Sire," Gauis said quietly. "Is common with head injuries. There is no shame in not remembering the events that happened to you. I will plead your case." He paused. "Is there anything else giving you pain?"

Arthur covered his face with his good hand. "My sword arm, Gaius. It's just gone, isn't it?"

"Its very much still there, Sire."

Arthur held in a sob. "Gaius its numb. Completely, utterly numb."

Gaius sat in thought for a moment, prodded Arthur's arm in his lap, and thought again. There was something awful in that silence.

Then a shiver from Merlin's bedroom brought both of them out of their revere. Gauis stood, then sat, then stood again.

"Check on him, Gaius," Arthur said. When he still hesitated, and Arthur knew he himself must be in worse shape than he imagined, he still continued. "That's an order, Gauis."

The old man stood.

Merlin stood in the doorway, wearing every piece of clothing he owned and then some—Morgana's cloak, Gwen's old household quilt, a curtain—and still he trembled, teeth chattering.

"G-Gaius?" he questioned choppily.

"Yes, my boy? I'm coming, you shouldn't have gotten out of bed."

_"M-m so c-cold."_

"I know, I know. We'll move you nearer to the fireplace soon, I promise. It just isn't safe yet to push your body so fast."

Arthur watched as the old man tottered over and helped Merlin to the other side of the patient bed, far enough away that only the end of Morgana's cloak touched Arthur's side.

"Just for a moment, Sire, let me examine him. No need to get up, either of you. You'll stay just as you are." Gaius went to his cupboards.

Arthur looked at Merlin's still-blue lips, his pale cheeks and the ugly cold burns on his ears and neck. Merlin just pulled his layers closer around him, not making eye contact.

"What happened?" Arthur said under his breath so Gauis wouldn't scold. "Last I remember you had gone after the sorcerer and were stabbed. I…"

Merlin blinked a few times. Made a hollow sound. "You can't remember? None of it?" Arthur shook his head. Merlin seemed to deflate. "The s-sorcerer is dead. That's what m-matters. He won't abuse anyone else anymore."

Arthur nodded. "And you…?"

"I've felt b-better." A wry smile. "You?"

"Massive headache." Arthur ignored the flare in his hand.

Merlin craned his neck to see the lump on the back of Arthur's head. "How'd it happen?"

"No idea, honestly."

Gaius returned and gave both of them two more vials which they drank dutifully. Then, Gauis tugged at the cloak, a silent ask for permission. Merlin slowly shifted his hands away from their hold, and Gauis started to peel back the layers Merlin wore until it was just his simple shirt and pants, thin and worn. The shivering worsened tenfold.

"It will be over before you know it, my boy," Gaius encouraged.

Merlin just shakily grabbed onto Arthur's arm.

Arthur strained to not cry out at the lightning coursing through his hand.

Gauis peeled back the bandages on his torso, smoothed a salve over the wound, and told them that it looked clean, uninfected. Merlin's small adventure hadn't affected the healing process so far. Then he placed more bandages and told Merlin not to move around as much, heaven forbid Gaius bedrest him.

"When did Merlin arrive?" Arthur asked to stall, swallowing hard afterwards to keep the pain silent.

"About four hours before you, Sire. He was taken by Sir Leon on a direct route at top speed, supposedly as you had ordered before you were abducted."

Merlin squeezed tighter as Gaius tied the knot.

Arthur squeezed the bedpost.

They waited as Gaius went to wash his hands, Merlin hurrying to put on all the clothing and blankets again, Arthur breathing slowly through his nose as the pain slowly receded to throbbing.

"Does it hurt, then?" Arthur asked, voice soft.

"F-feels lik-k-ke I'm b-burning at the st-stake." A laugh that didn't belong.

Gaius came back with a sling, pulling Arthur's numb hand into it and expertly tying it off around his neck. "Be careful with it, Sire. I'll do more extensive research tonight while I keep vigil over Merlin. Come back immediately if it starts to worsen."

"What worsen?" Merlin asked, turning even paler. "Oh, lord, Arthur I just…your hand is hurt?"

_Did I hurt your hand?_ Arthur knew what he was asking.

"It isn't really that bad, I… I just don't know what I did to it."

Merlin moaned, sinking into his cocoon. _"'M sorry."_

Another laugh that didn't fit. "Its fine, Merlin. I'm fine."

"Like I'll believe that."

Merlin extracted one of his hands outside the cloak, reaching out for Arthur's hand. Arthur pulled away.

"Will you let me see it?" Merlin asked. His hand was nearly vibrating with the cold, his veins so prominent that Arthur thought he could almost see his blood flowing through. "Arthur."

Arthur moved closer.

Merlin took his hand, gently turned it over to look at his palm, then back to look at the tops of his fingers to his forearm.

"Arthur," Gaius said cheerfully. "One more tonic, actually. Would you?"

Arthur grimaced, but swallowed the liquid handed to him without question.

His vision blurred for a second, the world turning muddy brown and gold, before it cleared and he saw Merlin again, eyes wide, still holding his hand.

With was prickling something awful…but he could _feel it._

"Gaius, the…what was that? I can feel my hand again."

Gaius had this annoying, small smile. "Off to bed, Sire. And take it easy, that last potion was a strong one. I'll talk to your father about the head injury. He will come around, even if your memories don't."

Arthur stood with Gaius' assistance, making his way out the door slowly.

Merlin coughed wetly into his warm nest, and for some reason the hairs on the back of Arthur's neck stood.

"C-can I sit next to the fireplace now, Gaius?"

"Not yet, my boy. Soon."

* * *

Arthur had full use of his sword arm the next day, but he skipped training anyway. He had Morgana help him pick out the best blanket to bring over to Merlin. And a spot of tea, something to warm him up. He looked over his armful of well wishes one last time, then pushed open Gaius' door.

"Gaius?" he whispered. "Merlin?"

"_N-not now,_" came the reply from Merlin's room.

Arthur walked in anyway. "Merlin, I brought tea. And another blanket to add to your ridiculous pile. It's… from Morgana, of course."

He stepped into Merlin's room and found the young man curled up in the corner of the room, surrounded by the cloak and the quilt and the curtain, his eyes wet and his hands quivering over his mouth.

"I j-just need a minute, Sire, and I'll be r-right with-th you."

_Feels like I'm burning at the stake._

Arthur's stomach dropped. He placed the blanket and the tea on the bed.

"I… I don't need anything Merlin. I just… Morgana… A rain check, then? On the tea?" Arthur said hoarsely. _He could see Merlin's breath, a small, choppy puff of cold. _"I… I'll go. Feel better, Merlin."

Merlin didn't respond.

Arthur threw another log in the fireplace on his way out, hoping that just an inkling of the extra heat might make its way through the wall to where Merlin sat.


	6. Chapter 6

**6\. Tasset**

a. Protection for the thigh

* * *

[Placed within the end of season 2 and the beginning of 3]

* * *

"He was picking _flowers,"_ Arthur groaned as he heard the news that Merlin was incapacitated once again. After months of him hobbling around from his broken leg, non-weight bearing from the dragon's wound, and him just recently being unable to wear anything less than forty layers, Arthur had thought the worst was behind them. Merlin had learned to stay out of trouble.

_How can he possibly be so thick?_ Arthur mourned as he marched into the physician's quarters. What with Morgana… gone…

It had been almost been ten months.

And nothing. Not a trace of her to be found.

Arthur shook his head hard, clearing the image of his sister out of his head. He and Merlin and his men were only home long enough to restock, then they would head out once more. Once more, search the woods and the villages and the darkest, most vile corners of Camelot and beyond.

Unless that idiot managed to hurt himself…

"Picking flowers," Arthur said again. He ran a sweaty hand through his hair, knowing full well that it would make it stick up in odd places. Oddly enough, it didn't bother him that much. Merlin, no matter how bad Arthur looked, would somehow manage to look worse. "One of his many useless talents."

Arthur knocked on the door, expecting to see Gaius. Gwen, however, answered the door.

"Sire!" she quickly ducked into a curtsy, which Arthur waved off. "Are you here to see Gaius? He's out for just a bit, but he'll be back before—"

"Merlin, actually," Arthur said, hastily smoothing his hair back down. "I'm here to see Merlin. I heard something happened yesterday on his supply run."

Gwen's eyes shone with something Arthur could guess was pride. "He's not very lucid, but I'm sure he'd like to see you. Really, though, you're all right?"

Arthur stepped past her as she opened the door wider for him to enter. "I'm fine, Guinevere."

The room was cast in greenish light and dust could be seen drifting around in little spirals. The patient's bed was made, and the fire was crackling away. There was a bright flash of lightning, then a rumble of thunder. The window shuddered as the first patter of rain spattered against it. Gwen lit a candle as the room descended into darkness by gradual, shifting shades.

"Go on then," she said quietly. "He's in his room. I'll go with you."

Arthur snorted, scrubbing his hands down the front of his pants.

"'Course, I just… he's not lucid, you said? What happened?"

Gwen's eyes went dark. "Haven't you heard?" Arthur shook his head, and Gwen pulled him away from Merlin's door, closer to the fire. The back of his legs soaked in the heat greedily. His heart was pounding. "Slavers. They took…Merlin was found on the side of the road with his legs lashed and his hair…well, we've tried to put the story together ourselves because Merlin hasn't been quite here enough to tell it himself."

"They whipped him?" Arthur swallowed his rage. "Slavers. In my kingdom. Whipped my servant."

Gwen bit her lip, averted her eyes. "We think."

"Bloody hell."

Arthur moved past Gwen and the cold returned with a vengeance. Thunder shook the vials and contraptions on the table, the window screaming with the gathering storm. He wanted to scream back—how couldn't he keep one single manservant safe? Arthur covered his mouth, feeling the bristle of forgetting to shave against his tightly clenched jaw.

This would not stand. He would not let it.

Quietly, he cracked open Merlin's door. The room was dark, but Gwen was quick to light more candles behind him. Merlin's form appeared in the yellow warmth.

Merlin was lying on his back, trembling hands loosely holding the folds of his thin blanket that was covered him up to his ribs. His head turned toward the door, eyes looking shiny and red. _Maybe it was the candle light_, Arthur thought. _But it doesn't look like he recognizes me._

"Merlin, Arthur's come to pay you a visit," Gwen helped along, stooping by his bedside and slipping her hand into Merlin's trembling one. "Do you mind if he comes in?"

Arthur honestly couldn't tell if Merlin was staring at him or through him.

"Yeah, have him in," Merlin said. His voice sounded like his throat had been charred to nothing.

Gwen looked to Arthur, her eyes trying to tell him something. Did she want him to reenter? Stomp a bit to make a show of him coming in? He couldn't read it.

Arthur cleared his throat instead, coming a bit closer to the bed.

"Hi, Merlin. How…how are you?" Arthur said. That was a good start, he figured, when he wanted to drill questions at him until he had names, locations, and weapons of the people who attacked him.

Merlin's eyes drifted. There were hot tears gathered in them, which Merlin took the back of his hand and scrubbed them away after a few tries to steady his shaking fingers.

"I'm…I can't really see you, Sire." He gave an airy, self-deprecating snort. "You're thinking about whether you can leave me or not to go back to the search, aren't you?"

Arthur swallowed hard. "No, Merlin. I'm thinking about how…upset I am that there are slavers in my kingdom, hurting my citizens."

But a part of him was thinking… could he leave Merlin like this?

Of course he could, Merlin was a manservant, a technically replaceable member of his company when it came to looking for Morgana. There were people who were more capable than him in cooking, fetching firewood, mending wounds. And his father wouldn't wait for a manservant to recover before he ordered them to go back out.

Merlin was scrubbing more tears away. Gwen took his hand away, gently taking her handkerchief and wiping in his stead. Arthur noticed how Merlin leaned into Gwen's touch, how he held her hand with such security. He couldn't help but remember when Gaius changed Merlin's dressings from the stab wound, and how Merlin had taken his numb hand without thinking.

He looked to Gwen, trying to communicate with his eyes now: _I thought you said it was his legs._

Gwen gave a fluttering smile. She didn't understand him either. Arthur walked in a bit closer, sitting down in the chair next to Merlin's feet. He set a hand down on the bed, steadying himself. Thunder rolled through the room once more.

Merlin's breath hitched, back arching as his fists tightened and his eyes squeezed shut. Gwen stood the same time Arthur did.

"Merlin?" Arthur said. His voice sounded small.

Another rumble tore the window open outside the bedroom, shudders flapping in the harsh wind. Merlin continued to speechlessly struggle, hands fisting and unfisting as he worked through the bout.

"What do we do?" Arthur felt useless. Gwen had one hand over his forehead, the other still in Merlin's grip. He couldn't hold Merlin's hand.

"Nothing," Gwen said. "Gaius is in town, we can't…"

She didn't finish. Merlin seemed to sink into the bed further, melting and quivering until he seemed half his normal self.

Merlin's eyes opened again, more red and teary than the last. "Come's in waves," he said miserably. Arthur sat down heavily. Gwen stayed standing.

"Isn't there anything Gaius said to do for the pain?" she asked.

Merlin thought for a second. "He said maybe ice from the kitchens would help? But they rarely have any leftover and I—"

"I'll have some brought up," Arthur said, then quickly changed his tone of voice as Merlin flinched. "C'mon, Merlin. It's bloody stupid to sit here in pain all day. If there's something to do that fixes it—"

Gwen took her hand back from Merlin. "I'm going to get some. I know the servants; they'll find some for you. Stay with him, Arthur."

Arthur blinked, and before he realized that she really was going to leave him alone with Merlin who could barely see and was previously just writhing in pain she was gone, and the door closed behind her.

Merlin was back to sloppily wiping his cheeks. Experimentally, Arthur looked at his hands. They were too calloused for wiping faces.

"So you've heard then?" Merlin's voice was hoarse enough and the wind and rain loud enough that Arthur had to move his chair closer to the front of the bed to hear.

"Heard what?"

"What happened."

Arthur shook his head. But when Merlin didn't acknowledge it and the silence crept on, Arthur said, "I just shook my head."

Merlin mumbled a quiet "right" before he tensed again, lips white and pulled into a thin line, his knuckles rapping against the cot. Candles flickered. One of the books on the small shelf tipped off and hit the floor with a thud.

When it passed with a long hiss from Merlin's throat, Arthur thought whatever Gaius was doing it could have waited for a couple more bloody days because Merlin like this scared him like he couldn't have anticipated.

Merlin slowly got his breathing under control. Arthur glanced at the dusty table next to him. There was a pitcher and a mug.

"Are you thirsty?" Arthur said awkwardly. Merlin shrugged.

"Issnot worth moving for."

Arthur stopped reaching for the pitcher. "You're sure? I could…" but he didn't know how to finish that sentence.

Merlin pressed the palms of his hands into his irritated eyes, his chin quivering. Arthur noticed just how short his hair was now, something he hadn't realized when he was sitting at the foot of the bed.

"It was slavers that did…this…to you, Merlin. I heard that much." Merlin gave a unsatisfactory humph. Arthur rolled his eyes. "Well, you brought it up first."

"Only to know I wouldn't have to talk about it."

The whisper made him look impossibly smaller.

Arthur rubbed the beginnings of stubble again. "Then…what happened to your hair?" That seemed a safer topic than whipping.

Merlin raised a hand and hesitantly hovered over what used to be long bangs. Arthur thought about guiding his hand there but decided against it, not quite sure where that instinct came from. Instead, he watched as his manservant pulled at the short-cropped black tufts by his forehead, then his ears.

"They were holding my by my hair…I think…I think I remember Gaius trimming it so that it looked more even last night."

"You don't remember?"

"I couldn't see."

Arthur mouthed a soft "oh." Then, he reached out against his better judgment and ruffled it till it made Merlin smile a little. It wasn't a true Merlin smile, but Arthur found his heart strangely lifted by him trying.

"Suits you. You look less like a girl now."

Merlin worked his arms at his sides. "Maybe I will take a drink."

Arthur watched for a second as Merlin tried to lift himself onto his elbows with no success. More tears dribbled onto his nightshirt and down his neck and cheeks and nose. His teeth were grinding.

"Need help?" Only after Arthur said it did he realize it sounded condescending.

"No."

"I will anyway."

Arthur took a nearby coat and stuffed it underneath Merlin's head, then took him by the shoulders and pulled so that he would be up against the wall. Merlin let out a groan.

"Stop, stop," he croaked. "Help me down."

Merlin sat keening, head in hands as he rode out another wave. His legs spasmed under the blanket. Arthur helped Merlin back into an almost reclining position.

"Ow." Merlin said after two long minutes of silence.

"Still…want a drink?"

Merlin thought. "I'll probably retch it up like this."

"Worth a try?"

Merlin nodded after a moment's thought. Arthur poured a cup full and stuck it out.

"Right," he mumbled, feeling sheepish as Merlin didn't make a move to grab it. He wavered before taking one of Merlin's hands and wrapping his fingers around the cup. "Got it?"

"Yeah." Merlin's hands were shaking so badly though that most of the water was sloshing out the sides. The prince took the cup back before Merlin could protest and held it to his bottom lip. Merlin's unfocused eyes closed as the water hit his parched tongue.

"So," Arthur started, trying to sound conversational. "Can you really not see me?"

"Everything's blurry," he said once Arthur took the cup away. "I can't…make out good shapes. It's getting better though. Gaius said the alcohol should wear off. It'll be back to normal by tomorrow."

"Alcohol."

Merlin rubbed his face against the pillow and coat by his cheek. "And they won't stop watering."

_Not really answering the question there, Merlin, _Arthur thought. He wanted to press but didn't.

"Is there…anything we can do?" Arthur realized 'we' meant him. He just didn't want to sound like he was getting soft. He already sounded like a girl.

Merlin pointed toward the side table. "Gaius left water for me to wash my eyes out with every so often. When the burning gets bad."

Arthur slapped a hand over his mouth. "Water in a pitcher?"

Merlin nodded.

"Merlin. I just-you just drank eyeball water."

Merlin spluttered. "You clotpole!"

He laughed, feeling the heaviness of the moment slide away. The storm still raged on, but it didn't feel as menacing. Arthur remembered the window that had flown open earlier.

"I'm going to close the window," he said, getting up from his chair which had strangely slid even closer to Merlin. Just as he turned to go, Merlin's hand was on his wrist. "I'll be back, Merlin. I'm not going far."

He was planning to be snarky, but his voice didn't get the message.

"I just…I'm being ridiculous. Sorry."

Arthur shook his hand and Merlin let go, his arm dropping to the side of the bed. The prince hadn't fixed a window before, but he figured it wouldn't be too hard. He jimmied the latch, finding it still worked, and took the glass into his hand to slam it shut. Trees had fallen in the storm, and the river looked swollen with the storm. They'd have a hard time crossing that come tomorrow when the search began again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Merlin look strained again, body gone stiff with the hope of stopping the pain. He wasn't whimpering, to his credit, just taking long choppy breaths and holding them in until Arthur was worried he might burst.

"Take it easy, Merlin," Arthur said, snapping the window shut just as another crack of lightning lit the air. "Gwen will be back soon."

He ducks back into Merlin's bedroom and he can see the evident relief in Merlin's face when he sits loudly back into the chair.

There was a knock at the door.

"Ah, there she is now. See, Merlin? Come in." Arthur stood back up to greet her at the door.

Two guards entered the room. "Sire, the King desires to speak with you."

Arthur frowns, prince-like and stern. "I'm sorry?"

The guard looks uncomfortable. "That was the only message we received. That and it was most urgent."

Arthur tried to see if Merlin could hear them or not; the door was open, and there was a good chance that he could. Gwen had told him to stay, and he could still feel Merlin's shaky grip on his wrist.

"I'm feeling ill," Arthur lied valiantly. "Tell the King I will join him at dinner tonight, and not a moment before. Physicians orders."

The two guards exchanged nervous glances before bowing and retreating out the door. When the room was back to being silent except for Merlin's breathing and the storm, Arthur let out a sigh.

"I don't think that lie will last long," he said.

"You should go," came the weak voice in the bedroom.

Arthur paused. "No. Gwen will knock me upside the head if I leave you here alone."

Merlin acknowledged his point with a quirk of his eyebrow.

They sat and listened to the rain, the occasional burst of thunder making things rattle and jump and then settle back into place. Arthur picked at his boots. Merlin chewed on his lip and wiped his eyes.

When Gwen arrived, both of them perked up. She held four small wrapped clothes of shimmering cold.

"Right on top, did Gaius say?" she asked, setting into her place by Merlin's head. She effortlessly brushed his sweaty forehead, cupped his swollen eye sockets with her thumbs to brush away stray tears. Merlin's eyelashes were sticking together now, and his blinking was getting sluggish.

"Maybe...just…around the worst of it." Merlin was already very still, as if preparing himself now might lessen the shock of it.

Arthur didn't understand why he felt like running as fast and far away as possible until Gwen placed the first ice block on the side of Merlin's leg.

Arthur couldn't remember a time Merlin had screamed like that.

Merlin had taken a poisoned cup for him, laid sweating and shivering and hallucinating for hours. Arthur had snapped his calf bone clean in half jousting him, gotten Merlin beat up by defending his master, and because Arthur was too slow to protect him when they fought the dragon side by side, Merlin had gotten swiped. None—and Arthur remembered him holed up in the physician's quarters for the time when he was stabbed by the sorcerer in battle _literally frozen to the bone_—none of those times he had heard Merlin shriek the way he just did.

Gwen pulled the ice off like it had burned him, watching as the aftershocks tore through Merlin. He grabbed her hand even as she tried to tug it away.

"Merlin!" Arthur was yelling now too, as Gwen was trying to shush Merlin back from wherever he was. "Merlin, listen to me right now, you bloody idiot—don't be such a girl's petticoat."

Merlin gripped the edges of the bed until his pink knuckles went transparent.

"I'm fine," Merlin ground out. "Next one."

Gwen carefully sat the ice down in the spot she had originally, and Merlin sucked in a breath. Arthur prepared himself for another blood-curdling scream but it didn't come.

"Good?" Arthur asked tentatively. Merlin gave the slightest nod.

Gwen laid the next one down on the other side. And at Merlin's instruction, all four packages were carefully placed overtop of the sheets on Merlin's legs. Arthur wasn't sure how fast inflammation was supposed to go down, but for Merlin's sake he hoped it was quick.

Gwen turned to grab a cloth to wipe Merlin's face with. Arthur was no longer sure if his face was wet from the alcohol in his eyes or from the ice experience.

Arthur figured he'd already have it in with his father, so he sat down again next to the bedside. There was this meditative calm—not true calm but one carefully plastered to mask something the world shouldn't have to see. Arthur knew because he used the same face, the same calculated breathing.

"Just tell me," Merlin said, eyes still shut. "That I'm not freezing to death."

"You're not—?" Arthur stopped himself. He realized what he was affirming, that Merlin felt the ice cold and associated it with the sorcerer's wound. "You're not freezing to death Merlin. You're…you're in your own room, dollop head. And Gwen's getting a piece of cloth to wipe your eyes with. I'm sitting by your bedside when I should be having dinner with my father but I'm not going down."

Arthur realized that Merlin had his head turned toward him. Hanging on his words to keep him lucid. He kept talking.

"With the storm that's come, I doubt we'll be able to move out tomorrow. The river's up and split trees are blocking main roads. They'll need men to fix houses and gates. My father has to understand that much, at least. And Morgana…hopefully she's found shelter somewhere from the rain. I can't imagine her being able to find firewood if she's out on her own. If she's with someone…or someones…I hope they're taking care of her."

It felt too real, then, that what the slavers had done to Merlin they could have also done to Morgana. Or worse.

"I think the worst has passed, what do you think, Merlin?" Arthur said after a bit. Merlin was taking short, sort of hiccupping breaths.

Gwen wiped away the stick and wet around Merlin's eyes. Neither boy realized when she had joined them.

"It's all numb," Merlin said thankfully reaching up to what he must have seen as a blurry Gwen.

Gwen kissed his forehead. "It feels better then?"

"Doesn't feel at all."

Arthur notices the window had been blown open again, this time the main window as well as the little window Merlin's bedroom had. He got up to close it, but before he could Merlin's hand was on his wrist again.

"Bloody hell, Merlin," Arthur said with a laugh. "For a blind man you've got wicked fast reflexes." Merlin tried for a laugh but it fell short. "I'm just going to close the window."

Merlin didn't let go this time, though. So Arthur sat back down like he had been chained to the chair instead of hooked by two weak fingers.

Gwen closed the windows for him, also adjusting a few of the belongings and physician tools that had blown or been knocked over by the storm.

Not knowing what else to do, Arthur sat stoic at Merlin's side, not really saying or doing anything but he ventured an uneducated guess that perhaps that's all Merlin was looking for. Gwen switched out the candles when they burnt low, re-latched the window again, wiped Merlin's face, and adjusted the slowly melting ice packages. The drip, drip, drip of the blocks onto the wooden floor made Arthur's foot tap. He wasn't doing anything to fix Merlin—he didn't know how, and even if he did he wouldn't try. Not after the sound he had heard get ripped from Merlin's throat.

Gwen came behind him, saying in a low voice as it looked like Merlin might drift off to sleep. "We should change his dressings."

"No."

Merlin, in fact, was very much awake, as Arthur found out as he reached for the blanket and received a very much awake punch to the nose.

"Merlin!" Gwen scolded, taking the cloth she had just wiped Merlin's snotty face with up to his and there was no way that was coming close to him under any bloody circumstance. Arthur grunted and batted it away, cupping his hands to catch the blood spurting from his nostrils.

"Good hook, Merlin," he said sarcastically. The bleeding slowed quickly; a superficial hit. "And don't be such an idiot. If Gwen says you're dressings need changing then you listen to her."

His stomach was all twisted though, and not from the blood that he swallowed.

Merlin continued clutching at the sheet. "Arthur goes then."

Arthur protested. "You literally just told me I had to stay!"

Gwen looked at him though, and he knew that look—the one she learned or taught Morgana he wasn't sure but he very well recognized it. He took a step back, hands up.

"Fine. I'll go. My father is expecting me anyway."

Merlin was taking uneven breaths. Didn't sound like anger.

Gwen balled up the ice and the cloths. "Throw these in the bowl on the table on your way out?"

"'Course. Feel better Merlin."

Arthur walked out, tossed the cloth bundles in the bowl and shut the bloody window again. He could hear Gwen talking to him in low, soothing words that Arthur couldn't make out. Not that he wanted to. He wasn't a comforter anyway, and by sick beds wasn't his place. His place was at the dinner table, talking about nothing with his father as they both distractedly didn't talk about Morgana's missing presence. Maybe he would set out tomorrow just to spite Merlin, let him know that he didn't want him by his side when he was at his darkest either.

But he knew he wouldn't, even as he knew he would be making up an elaborate excuse at the table tonight about swollen rivers and downed trees and a sickened stomach.

He couldn't tell if Merlin's scream was echoing in his head as he turned down the hallway, or if it was real, and even more pain-filled than the first.

* * *

Arthur heard when Gaius returned the next morning. He was midway through a sparring session and nearly forgot to duck, nearly had his head lobbed off for the distraction. Just for that, he dallied a bit, unbuckling bits of his armour even as his replacement manservant tried to undo them. Took time cleaning his face, which he had shaved, and his hair.

As he slipped past his father in the meeting hall, Arthur crept up to the physician's room once again. He knocked on the door, and Gaius answered.

"Sire! Are you here to see me about your nose? I'll be available in just a moment—"

"Merlin, actually. I'm here to see Merlin. Is he feeling any better?"

Gaius smiled, clasping him on the shoulder. "Come in, Sire. Not your nose then? It is quite swollen. We've got broth going on the fire, would you care for any?"

"I'm fine, Gaius. Not hungry. Is he awake?"

Gaius ambled to the fire, poured a bowl, and then went on to Merlin's room. "You're welcome to follow me, sire. His eyesight's mostly returned, but he'll need some extra help to eat."

Arthur followed Gaius, watching carefully for Merlin's reaction at his entrance.

"Sire," Merlin said carefully.

"Merlin."

"I brought you something to eat," Gaius said, staring at both of them before breaking their stare down. "Sire, would you care to help while I prepare a poultice?"

Arthur looked to Merlin. As if he needed his permission or cue. As if he wasn't his master and he the manservant. "Of course."

He took the bowl and spoon and sat down in the chair by Merlin's head as if nothing had happened last night. Merlin sniffed the soup.

"It's drugged, isn't it?" Merlin muttered. Arthur shrugged.

"Want me to try it first?"

Merlin cracked an unexpected smile. "I'm in no shape to be exploring caves to save you, Sire."

Arthur smiled too, even though it wasn't that funny. It was sad, actually.

Arthur held the first spoonful up to Merlin, who took a sip and coughed.

"Definitely drugged," they said together. Arthur and him made eye contact, and sure enough his eyes were less cloudy than last night, though no less red and teary. Arthur took the spoon back into the bowl.

"Can you see me now, Merlin?" he asked. Merlin squinted.

"I can see…you've put on weight."

Arthur slapped the back of his head. Merlin snorted.

"Want another spoonful, idiot?"

"Yeah."

Gaius returned with a wooden bowl full of whatever concoction he made this time, peeling back his ward's blanket without much protest. Arthur blinked, then realized he had helped in the trick. He set the broth down guiltily.

Merlin's pant legs were gone, cut to the quick so they resembled another pair of linen breeches.

His thighs looked as though they had been ground to meat.

Gaius caught Arthur's horror. "Sire? If you do not wish to…" But he trailed off, knowing calling Arthur out would only make him want to stay. He got that from his father.

_It was so much worse than he imagined_. Last night seemed like a miracle, that Merlin was awake and conversational. He didn't want Arthur to see this. And part of Arthur understood. The other part wanted to chew his manservant out for playing down the craters that were now his legs knees and upward.

"Gaius…what really happened?"

Merlin slept fitfully. Gaius checked twice before he began.

"Merlin was gathering in the woods nearby under strict instructions not to stray and not to be out longer than sunset. He saw… a slaver's cart rolled through. And at first he said he hid, but in all honesty sire I doubt that. When the slavers came close by he saw the people in back, chained up like animals, sire, absolutely… horrible. Merlin shouldn't have started the fight. He told me himself he knew he wouldn't win. But you know Merlin: once his mind is set, he just… He managed to knock the slaver out long enough to let three slaves out of their chains, but when the slaver came round, Merlin couldn't get away fast enough. They caught the slaves and lined them up, all four of them against the wagon. Poured alcohol down their throats and in their eyes and…and they whipped…"

Arthur finished for him. He had seen the effects of slavers first hand. "Whipped them senseless."

"Whipped them _strategically,_" Gaius corrected, back into physician mode. "Whip his back and he can walk home. Whip his legs, and he's left to rot."

"How was he found?"

"When it got dark, and he wasn't home, I sent men out. It's a dangerous world out there for boys like Merlin."

Arthur understood. Merlin could barely fight, didn't have a sword, and had a knack for getting into trouble.

"He wants to know if you'll leave without him, Sire," Gaius said quietly. "At his worst moments, that was what he was asking. That you wouldn't go alone."

Arthur opened his mouth, closed it again. "I promise."

"Good."

Then Gaius gave him a roll of bandages, and as he spread the poultice, Arthur followed behind and lightly draped the wraps over top. Merlin stirred and winced a few times, once mumbling something about a Freya. Or maybe he said afraid. Arthur didn't blame him.

_Standing up to slavers. Alone. Without any armour, without any weapon…_

Arthur offered to stay longer once the job was done, insisting Gaius must need sleep, but the old man declined. He pulled the blanket up to Merlin's chest once again.

"We appreciate everything you've done for us, Sire, but your father is already livid with me for having you do my job. Yes, he knows where you were last night, don't look at me like that. Go on. I'll send a messenger boy down with any changes."

Arthur took one last look at Merlin, his eyebrows all screwed together.

"Gaius, your windows need fixing."

"I'll make a note of it."

"And…" At the door, Arthur paused, one last thing weighing on him. "I fed Merlin the water he washed his eyes in."

The physician smiled, let out a hearty laugh, and set back about his work.

"If eye-wash water is what gets him, Sire, I'll truly believe fate to be a cruel master. Here's for the headache from your nose." Gaius handed him a stoppered vial. "Have a good day."

"You too. Feel better, Merlin."

Arthur didn't expect an answer. It just felt right, to make up for last night.

"Bye cabbage head," came a quiet voice from the bedroom.

Arthur hid his smile over his shoulder and closed the door.


	7. Chapter 7

**7\. Vambrace**

a. The collective name for arm protection

* * *

Right in the middle of season 3, episode 4. Meet Gwaine, everyone.

The entire episode rewritten with a bit of a change, and twice as much trouble.

* * *

"You two have got yourselves in a bit of a pickle, haven't you?" a peasant said to him, his shirt ridiculously low-cut, his hair too long, and his breath potent enough to knock a lesser man down. Arthur felt the thug Merlin had _so cleverly mouthed off to _breathing heavily, ratcheted up for a fight Arthur surely was looking for but didn't mean to have. The peasant couldn't have understood what was coming—_definitely _didn't understand who he was—and would get in the way of his fists.

"You should get out of here while you have the chance," Arthur said, straight-faced. _No need to play the hero here, mate_.

"You're probably right," the peasant said.

The brawl was inevitable, thanks to Merlin. Arthur had half a mind to start it by punching his manservant. The thug was eyeing him down, hands in fists, his little posse coming up behind him in droves. Eight, nine…twenty-some men to him. And sort of Merlin. Maybe a peasant.

Not good odds.

The peasant gave a smirk, took a long drink, then handed it to the thug. Gave him a smirk for good measure.

Then he wound up and punch the thug straight in the nose.

Drinks spill, tables are flipped, a man flies straight out the front door. The thug grabbed Arthur by the hair first, the peasant sliding out of the way to fight with someone else, which Arthur hadn't expected and he wasn't even inebriated. Slammed against the wall and then a pillar, his back jarring with pain.

Punch in the gut, punch in the chest, punch in the face. His jaw felt loose, his breath stolen, and his vision swam. His father would be furious on all sorts of grounds: that he was fighting in a tavern, that he was _losing_ that fight in that tavern. He could hear Morgana shouting his name. She'd scold him, probably. When he got home with a bloody black eye.

Suddenly, he found himself flat on his back, slivers of wood from the table he lay on digging into his already flaming-bruised back.

But it wasn't Morgana, was it? It was Merlin's girly voice shouting his name.

He looked over for just a second, just long enough to still have some self-preservation for his own life in the hands of a thug with a thirst for his blood. A man with a chair hoisted high above his head. Aimed at his manservant who was looking far too pleased with himself for his bloody knuckles.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, his voice only cracking because of the thug's grip on his throat. "Behind you!"

Merlin ducked. Was safe enough then, for now, if he'd just _get out of the place_ Arthur would feel better. But the peasant had his back. And he wasn't jealous.

He looked the thug in the eyes and snapped his hand at his neck hoping to hit something that hurt. It was enough to give him the momentum, and he was off the table and doubling the speed of his punches. Neck, side, face, gut—he'd take one, or two, but he'd give five in return. His muscles sang.

He was born to do combat. He was good at it. He was winning. He was better than that peasant at combat.

He was better than that peasant at protecting Merlin.

Arthur had the thug in a headlock, and he had figured it was over. But they somehow got separated, and Arthur hit the wall again—_his back, bloody hell—_before he stumbled back to ream on the thug again.

Thrown to the floor, or escaping his grip it didn't matter.

The thug pulled a knife.

Arthur was unarmed, his back screaming at him to _not get up._

_There was no honor in this fight from the start._

Three or four of that peasant ran at the thug, arms wrapping around each other as they crashed into a table, then took each other to the floor.

Arthur shakily got to his feet, sensed Merlin behind him waiting for his cue to help that Arthur never gave.

The peasant tried to stand, hands gripping his thigh as he blinked, winced, and blinked some more.

_He'd been stabbed,_ Arthur realized belatedly. _A commoner. He'd taken that knife for him. And he didn't even know who he was._

The peasant's legs gave out, his head hitting a bench corner. Collapsed even as Arthur and Merlin surged forward to catch him. The clothes around his thigh was dark stained, the knife had been pulled out. Merlin's hand hovered over the blood. The tavern had gone eerily silent.

"How is he?" Arthur asked.

Merlin's face was blotchy. _But he wasn't dead, right?_ "Not good," Merlin finally answered. "He's losing a lot of blood."

Arthur knew that. "We need two horses," he ordered to the air. The innkeeper disappeared. "And bandages."

A thud. Arthur turned around to see Merlin hit his head on the same bench, pale as a sheet, and crumple right on top of the peasant.

"Merlin!" Fainting at the sight of blood? The bloody man was the _physician's assistant._

Arthur pulled him up by the back of his shirt, which earned him a punch in his already sore gut. Merlin came to disoriented; swinging with one arm while the other lay limp at his side.

"Are you hurt, Merlin?" Arthur asked, feeling a bit sick himself. The knees of his pant legs had gone dark in the peasant's blood. "Merlin?"

"M'fine, sire. I just…forgot to duck. Once."

Arthur peeled off the side of Merlin's shirt, seeing Merlin bite down hard on his bottom lip. A dislocated shoulder.

"Lords, Merlin, why didn't you say something?" As the thug and his men were dragged out of the tavern, Arthur leaned Merlin against a stool. Bandages were delivered. "You've got to tell me how to bind this then, before I mess up his leg for good."

Merlin swallowed hard, trying to ground himself. "Tie a hard knot over the wound site—can you see it?"

"I'm not blind, Merlin."

_How could he not have noticed his manservant get hurt?_

"Like that, Arthur. Keep good pressure on it."

"That's all we can do for him here, isn't it?" Arthur's stomach dropped as a blossom of red already started to show itself through the bandage.

Merlin nodded. "The sooner we get him to Gaius, the better."

"Hold on a moment, Merlin. We can't just pick up random peasants in taverns and drag them back to Camelot. My father would…"

_What would his father do? Just a bloody crutch excuse._

"Sire," Merlin adjusted himself against the stool, breath hitching. "Gwaine saved my life. He saved _your _life. This could have been _you_ bleeding out on the ground."

He deserves a chance. He deserves the chance a king would be given.

"And for that I owe him my life."

Arthur stood, swinging Merlin up slowly to his feet, and gathering the peasant into his arms with a little difficulty. He could throw the man over the back of his horse, but Merlin wouldn't be able to hold the reins well enough to direct his own. He could throw Merlin over the back of his horse, and risk the peasant thrown over his own with their reins tied together…

"Does anyone here have a cart?" Arthur shouted through the tavern, which had gone noisy again.

"Aye, sir," said a gruff man. "My son'n I are cheese merchants. For a price, I'd lend you my cart."

"Name it." But just in case the man was thinking of swindling him, he placed two gold coins in the palm of his wrinkly hand.

"That'll do, sir, that'll do." The old man nodded and smiled a toothless grin.

The cart turned out to be the smallest, oldest cart Arthur had ever seen. He shifted the peasant onto his shoulder with a grunt before testing a wheel. It protested movement. Barely four hands wide, the peasant wasn't even guaranteed to fit.

Merlin stood in the doorway of the tavern, holding on with his good hand to steady himself. Arthur thought for a moment longer, then dumped the peasant into the cart, stuffed the sides with some hay and his jacket, and attached the cart to his horse. Neither of them liked the cart, it seemed.

"C'mon, Merlin," Arthur said, adjusting the saddle as he spoke. The boy walked unsteadily toward him. "You'll ride with me then."

Arthur mounted. Merlin stayed on the ground.

"I don't think I can get up."

Arthur stretched out a hand, then pulled it back. What a complete _idiot _he was. He dismounted, wrapped his arms around Merlin's waist and hoisted him up onto the saddle. Merlin went from pale to beet red.

A crowd had gathered outside the tavern as the thug Arthur had fought was clamped into the stocks, raging all the while.

"If this man ever troubles you again, word is to be sent to Camelot. Soldiers will be here within a day," Arthur said with as much of his father's voice in him he could stand.

The tavern keeper snorted. "How can you make a promise like that?"

He always loved this moment. "Because I'm the King's son, Prince Arthur."

Arthur urged his horse onward, looking over his shoulder to make sure the peasant was still in the bloody cheese cart. The general gasps and odd looks left in his wake didn't give him as much satisfaction.

* * *

Merlin lulled against his shoulder. "Sire, I think we should stop."

"We've only just started."

"My shoulder should be put back."

_There was no way Arthur was going to do that to him._

"Camelot isn't far off. We'll get to Gaius and get you sorted out."

Merlin was silent except for his uneven breathing, catching at each jolt of the ride. With the sound of the rickety cart behind him, it was nearly impossible to hear.

"So you're going to tell me how you got your shoulder torn out of socket?" Arthur prompted after a while of slow progress.

"Someone threw a cast iron pot at Gwaine. I got…nicked."

"Right."

A few more paces of silence between them. "Gwaine's not going to make it at this pace."

Arthur knew that. He'd seen the wound, the massive amount of gathered blood. "He'll be all right." _You'll be all right at this pace, Merlin. And that's what matters to me for some inexplicable reason. _

"He won't be. You need to speed up. Can three men sit on one horse?"

"Not safely."

"Then put me in the cart, get Gwaine on the horse, and speed up."

"I'm not doing that."

"Why not?"

Arthur snorted. "Because I hope you know that your life and limb has more value than a drunkards."

Merlin turned around, winced, and turned back to face forward. "It doesn't." The quietest whisper. Arthur nearly slapped him.

"It _does, _Merlin. That's the end of it. We're not going any faster than this, because I need you conscious if the peasant goes south."

_I'm trying to save you some pain._

Merlin started to sway. Arthur grabbed the back of his shirt.

"I'm getting off the horse," Merlin said hoarsely. "I'm getting off the horse, and you're setting my shoulder. Stop the horse."

Arthur didn't.

Merlin reached for the reins and yanked. The horse skidded to a stop with a whinny, the cart rolled to a halt with mild complaining.

"This is borderline mutiny, Merlin."

Merlin was already trying to get off the saddle. Arthur helped him off, dismounted himself, and folded his arms over his chest. Merlin staggered over to the nearest tree and sat down gracelessly.

Arthur shook his head. "I don't even know how to put an arm back in place."

"I'll talk you through."

Arthur knelt by his manservant.

His shoulder had swelled, black and blue colors all the way down his arm.

"Can you move it?"

"Not a bit." Merlin fumbled with his belt. Arthur raised an eyebrow, but didn't help. When he had it undone, Merlin bit into it, then took it back out. "Should work fine."

"Fine for…" Arthur understood, sickeningly.

"I'm going…to-to try to relax. Then you'll pull," Merlin sucked in a deep breath as he slowly slid down the tree until he was lying on his back. "Firmly."

"Merlin this is your worst idea yet."

But Merlin wasn't listening. His eyes were closed, his breathing trying to even out against the pain in his shoulder. Arthur could physically see the deformity now, when he couldn't have in the tavern.

He took hold of Merlin's arm. Merlin flinched, squeezed his eyes closed tighter.

Merlin didn't look relaxed.

Arthur started to pull from resting position, slowly upward. Merlin ground his teeth. "Give it a time," he said through clenched teeth. "Move it around a bit."

"Doesn't sound like bloody physician's terms."

"It's not."

"We shouldn't do this without sedative—"

"Just do it, Arthur."

Arthur moved his arm up and down, little circles that seemed to radiate pain up Merlin's body. With his good arm, Merlin stuffed the belt between his teeth, giving Arthur an affirming but pain-filled nod.

Arthur raised his arm higher.

Merlin growled, the sound buzzing between the leather.

Just a few notches higher, and there was an ugly _pop_. Merlin bucked against Arthur's grip.

"Easy, Merlin, easy. Don't be such a girl, I did that pretty well."

Merlin shakily took the belt out of his mouth. "We'll ride faster now." They both stood.

And Merlin immediately fainted.

"A _girl, Merlin, _would swoon like that," Arthur teased to Merlin who couldn't very well hear him, limp in Arthur's arms. And his heart wasn't in it.

He wasn't putting Merlin in the back of the cart.

Checking quickly to make sure the peasant was still breathing, Arthur put Merlin back on the front of the horse, sat behind him, and they broke into a trot.

"You know, I shouldn't have let you had a pint," Arthur rambled as Merlin's head flopped back onto his shoulder. He pushed it away and Merlin's neck lulled forward onto the horse's neck instead. "I knew you would be a light weight. One pint down and your tongue is as loose as a gossip-woman and you're already terrible reflexes dulled to nothing. When you're the king's manservant, you can't let your guard down. Even in disguise, people know there's something special about me and they—"

"I didn't even get to have a pint," came a wobbly voice. "Somebody used it for a club during the fight."

Arthur chuckled. "Almost there, now, Merlin." Camelot hovered in the distance, looking impossibly far away in the gathering mist.

Merlin's head rolled back onto his shoulder as Merlin lost consciousness. He shrugged it off again.

"Keep your head off me," Arthur said to Merlin's hair.

A moan could be heard over the rumble and screech of the cart. Arthur urged the horse just a little faster, hoping the wheels would stay on for just a while longer.

Arthur's back was starting to protest just as loudly. Merlin would wake, ask about Gwaine, and stay awake for long enough to hear the answer before slipping back into unconsciousness.

He found himself talking about Gwen in Merlin's absence. How when she looked at him it felt different than any other girl in the kingdom, how impossible it would be for them to be together, how…how he felt like a fool for falling so hard when he knew his duty.

Merlin was quiet, so he kept talking. "I know you wouldn't understand. I don't even know why I'm saying this all. It's not like I can talk to my father about it. Morgana… she's been so absent lately, I feel as though talking to her would only upset her. And… well, that leaves the back of your head, I suppose."

"If you love her, you should tell her."

Merlin didn't bother to straighten himself up from the horse's neck. Arthur cleared his throat, feeling heat rise in his cheeks.

"It can't be, Merlin. That's the end of it."

"Doesn't have to be. I know she feels the same about you."

Arthur mussed his hair up, and Merlin tried to wave him off without moving from his awkward position. Arthur saw the moment he stiffened up, pain radiating through his swollen and newly-fixed socket.

"Oh, come on then. Lean back."

Merlin shook his head. So Arthur took his good shoulder and guided him back onto his chest.

"I'm heavy," Merlin fought.

"Heavy like how a _child_ is heavy, _Mer_lin."

"I saw you with your back."

Arthur stopped. "I'm fine, Merlin."

"Fine like how I'm fine?"

The two both glared ahead, Merlin swaying to stay upright, Arthur sitting more rigid than he usually would on a horse. Both pretending that they were fine, both pretending that the other wasn't failing miserably at it.

_Lord, it couldn't be this hard to be friends._

* * *

The village went by in a blur, as darkness was slowly enveloping them on every side, tinting their journey in pinks and oranges before turning everything a shade of dark blue. If the cart didn't wake the town, surely nothing would.

But the world stayed silent.

Guards at the front gate stepped aside for them, couriers and knights surrounding them when they reached the Square.

"These men need help," Arthur said to a knight, who took the peasant into his arms with a dutiful nod. Another knight went to take Merlin, but Arthur held up a hand. "I'll take my manservant up myself."

He went to reach—his back had him doubled up and unable to breathe within seconds. A courier grabbed Merlin. A knight looped his arm over his shoulder.

This wouldn't be the first time for an unlikely parade of injuries to the physician's quarters. Merlin somewhere in front of him, the peasant somewhere up ahead. Gaius' door would be open, the worried old man already having his supplies ready. He shook the knight off once he was sure he could make it up the stairs, walking up the rest of the way and dismissing the knight at the door.

Gaius already had the peasant on Merlin's bed. Arthur closed the door behind him. He looked to the patient bed to find Merlin—

"Merlin, fetch me some fresh water, towels, a needle, and silk thread."

Arthur blinked in shock. Merlin was up and around, holding his arm gingerly, but grabbing what his mentor told him to.

"And honey?" Merlin asked, already grabbing it.

"You're learning."

Arthur started to protest, but Gaius held up a hand. "Honey helps fight the infection."

_Wasn't what he was bloody confused about._

Merlin had a bucket of sloshing water in his good hand, other supplies tucked in his pockets or under his arms. He set them down by Gaius. _He's pale again, _Arthur thought. _Bloody idiot is going to kill himself pretending like he's fine._

"Gaius, I don't think he's alright," Arthur said, staring daggers at Merlin's façade.

"He'll be fine, providing he's strong," Gaius replied, focused on the peasant.

Merlin gave a wide-eyed, _don't say anything _look.

"He's that all right, Gaius." Arthur frowned. But Merlin wasn't… he had gotten the bone back in place, but knights with dislocations-it took them days to get back to their feet. And here was Merlin, already threading the needle with semi-steady hands before handing it to Gaius.

Arthur's terrible bandaging job was taken apart on the peasant's leg.

"What's this man's name?" Gaius asked, cutting his pant leg off to make room for his stitch work.

"Gwaine. I didn't learn anything else." Merlin was wetting a towel. Arthur stood uselessly to the side.

"And nature of the injury—Arthur, you may as well watch, it's an essential tool to learn—it looks like a knife wound."

Arthur scooted closer. Merlin had enough gall to smile at him. So he hadn't told Gaius about his stitching job with the dragon. It bloody well figures he wouldn't.

"It was a knife. The man saved my life. He's to be given anything he needs," Arthur said, turning toward the door to leave.

"He should stay here, actually," he heard Merlin say to Gaius as he started to clean the wound. "He was hit around good in the tavern, and I've a feeling his back-"

"You think—!" Arthur whipped around. His sight went bright white, back lighting up with pain. He dropped to one knee.

And Merlin's idiotic face was right there when his sight cleared.

"Your back, Sire. I'll treat it."

Gaius waved his permission as he started to stitch. "Start with radish, bishopwort, garlic, and hollowleek. We've got red nettle around here somewhere, my boy. That'll do his back good."

Merlin set about finding the herbs, setting a pot boiling and all the while gingerly using his left arm.

"No red nettle. Celandine work?" Merlin shouted into the bedroom.

"Celandine will work just fine, my boy."

Arthur sat down on the patient bed, fuming. "You have no right to ignore your injury while you treat mine."

Merlin held up a dark red mixture. "Shirt off."

"Dollophead," Arthur muttered. But he let Merlin help him with the shirt.

"Sire, you're _entire back _is slivers of wood."

Arthur groaned. "Well, get them out, _Mer_lin."

Merlin went back about the quarters, checking once with Gaius before grabbing a pair of forceps. Arthur braced himself.

"Ready, Arthur?"

"Get on with it."

He could almost feel Merlin's stupid smile on the back of his neck as Merlin counted _out loud _the wooden slivers that plinked into the bowl at his side.

At number forty, Arthur said loudly, "How's your arm, Merlin?"

A sweaty hand clapped over Arthur's mouth.

Arthur tore it off. "I won't stand for this any longer. I will order you to tell Gaius if I have to."

"I'll have him look, I promise," Merlin whispered. "But…not until I know Gwaine's okay. And that you're okay. So turn around and shut up."

"Slivers aren't going to kill me."

"Sixty some might."

_"You_ might, Merlin."

Merlin laughed, and Arthur didn't miss how it hitched when his shoulder pulled.

* * *

Merlin kept him sitting there for ages, only taking a break when Gaius went out, declaring Gwaine stable and near consciousness. He stepped outside for fresh air.

"I'm just going to grab him a tray of food," Merlin said.

"No you're not, you're absolutely not. You'll stay here until Gaius looks at your arm."

Merlin went on about how the swelling was done, and how there was a bit of lack of motion but the numbness up his neck and down his arm was lessening. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"You did a good job, Sire." Merlin said.

For the first time, he thought about the mêlée approaching. And how the look in Merlin's eyes was all wrong, and that if he could just prove himself—he bet Merlin didn't even remember those words he'd said to him, but Arthur thought of them every day. _Every day. He'd prove himself with the dragon, he'd prove himself with finding Morgana, he'd prove himself with standing up for a tavern keeper, he'd prove himself at the mêlée._

When he shook himself out of his spiraling thoughts, Merlin had snuck into Gwaine's room.

It was light outside.

Fine, if Merlin was so set on doing exactly the opposite of what he told him to do, he'd have to find a different strategy.

He put his shirt back on, the red goo on his back dried and him feeling… better. The idiot fixed his back.

* * *

Merlin stubbornly appears in his chambers within the next two hours.

"How's Gwaine?" Arthur asked.

"Recovering."

Arthur walked to the window, and Merlin followed like he thought he would.

"Ahh, Sir Darien. He's here for the mêlée," Arthur said loudly. The knight pranced once around the Square where Merlin and him had all but collapsed the knight before.

"The tournament where the knights ride around hitting each other with blunt weapons for no good reason?"

"There's more to it than that, Merlin."

"Really? All I've ever seen is people getting the seven bells knocked out of them so that the last man standing can be called the winner."

"The mêlée is the ultimate test of strength and courage."

Merlin shook his head. Arthur _could visibly see him wince. _But Merlin moved on like nothing had happened.

"You're sure we're talking about the same thing?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I need my armour cleaned by noon, if you're feeling up to it."

Merlin picked up his vambrace and gave it a shake. "'Course."

* * *

He saw Merlin again in the Square. He looked ragged.

"If you're here, you haven't gone to Gaius," Arthur said under his breath as they watched the knights come in from the gates.

"You fixed the shoulder. I'm fine."

"Have it your way then, Merlin." Arthur walked away, shaking his head. Sir Oswald dismounted from his horse. "Sir Oswald! Didn't think you'd be brave enough to show up."

"And miss the chance of putting you on your backside?" Oswald said.

Arthur snorted again, throwing a look over at Merlin. "You've never managed it before."

"That was then. This is now."

He can't believe he forgot how good it felt to be with knights from far away. It helped him remember the world away from Camelot wasn't all sorcerers, bandits, taverns full of thugs.

Arthur gave Oswald a friendly punch to the shoulder. Grasped Oswald's companion's arm as he introduced himself.

"This is my servant, Merlin," Arthur said, giving a smile to Oswald and Ethan, then one aimed specifically at Merlin. "He loves hard work so, anything you need, just give him a call."

And he only felt slightly guilty when Oswald said he would.

* * *

Arthur saw him drag Gwaine home at night.

He held the bill from the tavern in his hand as he sat at his desk in the morning light.

But when Merlin stumbled in with a breakfast tray when Arthur was sure he was going to give in and have Gaius check him over, Arthur rubbed his temple. _Bloody dollopheaded, self-less idiot._

"Sorry. I know, I'm late."

Merlin carried the tray in his right hand, left shaking and barely touching the side of the tray in an effort to look like it was matching the other. The whole tray jostled and jingled before Merlin set it down on the desk.

"Not at all," Arthur found himself saying. _That is what a friend would say._

_Or what you would say to a dying man. _Merlin looked like death warmed over, with a layer of sweat covering him, his hair greasy and his clothes looking more like wrinkly rags than anything. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

Merlin averted his eyes. "Good."

Arthur chewed on the inside of his cheek. Merlin went about picking up, hiding each grimace as he bent to make the bed. His right arm was nearly useless.

"Sure you're alright?"

Merlin nearly hit his head on the bedpost. He could already hear the standard _I'm fine _on the tip of Merlin's tongue. He had _promised him. _He had tricked him, he was lying to him, and he had given him his word.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You're not sick, unsteady, about to burst into song?"

Merlin seemed to melt a bit. "No, why?"

Arthur made a show of picking up the tavern bill. "Fourteen quarts of mead, three flagons of wine, five quarts of cider—"

"I can explain!"

"—_Four dozen_ pickled eggs."

His manservant had a sheepish smile. "That was Gwaine. He went to the tavern and, er… he couldn't pay for it."

"So you said I would?"

"You know if I hadn't that inn keeper—he, he would've strung us both up!"

"I fail to see the downside."

Merlin threw up his left hand. Arthur went back to rubbing his headache away. "You said he should be given anything he needs."

"Four dozen pickled eggs? Tell me, Merlin, in all your medical expertise, that four dozen pickled eggs help knife wounds recover."

They looked at each other then, long and hard.

"I'm sorry… I'll pay for it."

Arthur saw through those words. He looked down at his boots. Manual labor that was a constant reminder of how sore you are? Nothing could beat shining and mending boots.

"You most certainly will."

* * *

_Bloody stubborn manservant. _Arthur slashed at the practice dummy's head, then his shoulders. _What is it, his pride that keeps him from telling Gaius? _

Oswald said something to his back, and he turned around.

"You look like you need a bit of practice."

"Ah, you think so?" Arthur examined his sword.

"I know so."

Merlin appeared out of no where, covered in grime and carrying a dulled sword in his trembling left hand, dragging a shield in his right. Oswald had him sparring. _Sparring. _Lords, and Arthur thought he had had these practice dummies installed so that _no one would use Merlin._

The fight goes quick. Arthur's mind is preoccupied, but he manages a smile at the friendly sport. Oswald could always match him in practice of strength, but his skills…

Arthur gave a laugh as their swords clashed in the middle. He had Oswald's sword to the ground, then they both separated, switched sides on the grounds.

"I thought you were left handed?" Arthur said, motioning with his sword. It was Merlin's tired glance that had reminded him.

"Yes I am…" Oswald switches hands. His smile is fake in return. "…I just wanted to give you a chance. Why don't we make this more interesting? 50 gold coins first clean hit."

Arthur thought of the tavern bill he had to pay. "Make it a hundred."

Arthur had Oswald's arms pinned behind his back in the three moves.

"You can keep your money," Arthur said as he taps his armour.

He walked away.

_Merlin shouldn't be sparring. He shouldn't be using his arm. _Arthur thought about calling him back to his quarters, saying something about needing another meal or some other blatantly obvious and menial task Merlin would have to do that didn't include straining his shoulder.

But Merlin was gone by the time he turned around.

* * *

Arthur sat with his head in his hands the day after Gwaine's banishment.

He'd said he'd been protecting Merlin.

Lords and ladies, _Arthur should have been protecting Merlin. _

When he looked at the boy now, his shoulders both looked swollen, he walked with such a rigid gait that Arthur knew that he felt both guilty and sore. Gwaine had his bed, Arthur realized then. Merlin wasn't even going back to Gaius', was he? Because he wouldn't sleep their anyway. Why not spend the night chasing after drunkards and scrubbing boots until Arthur could even see the blisters on his hands, and working long hours for so many masters that he didn't have enough hands for. He wasn't healing, and Merlin wasn't letting himself heal. Gwaine wasn't' letting him heal. Oswald and Ethan weren't letting him heal.

_Arthur wasn't letting him heal._

His father entered, and he straightened. Merlin ducked into the corner.

"I trust you're ready for the challenge?" Uther said. He had a sword.

_No, father._ "Yes, Father."

"I came to bring you this. I won my first mêlée with this blade. The edge has been dulled, it's perfectly safe. All of Camelot is eager for a victory today, Arthur. I know you won't let me down."

The hand on his shoulder felt like the weight of a kingdom.

Merlin took the sword from his hand without saying a word, and began to wipe it down.

* * *

Arthur put on as much of his armour as he could before Merlin arrived. The methodical rhythm and order of it calmed him down.

As he tied his belt, Merlin cleared his throat. "You know those moments when I tell you something isn't a good idea?"

Arthur snorted. "And then I ignore you, yeah."

"And then I'm proved right?"

He looked Merlin in the eye pointedly. "Merlin, your concern for my wellbeing is touching." _But that's the pot calling the kettle black. _

Merlin looked away, having the decency to look guilty. "I'm serious. I think you should withdraw."

"Look, I know you think the mêlée is some kind of...stupid game, but it's more than that. It's about proving to the people that I'm fit to lead them."

It had become his mantra. _Prove myself, prove myself, prove myself._

"I know."

Arthur looked up as Merlin handed Arthur his father's sword. His hands were blistered and cracked; as his sleeve fell down his arm, Arthur saw the harsh dark patches of bruises from the dislocation had barely faded. Both hands shook.

"Just be careful."

Arthur couldn't answer.

* * *

At his father's signal, chaos erupted in the mêlée stadium.

His focus narrowed, and Arthur saw nothing of the crowd. Opponent after opponent. Men fell. He was tackled off of his horse from behind. A sword appears in his visor's view, and he rolled to avoid it. His breath was coming too fast, his focus shattering at the edges. _That blade was not dull. _

A knight joined him. There were three. His focus reappeared.

His faceless partner jabbed, Oswald on the receiving end.

Something was wrong. Arthur was here for honor. Everyone else seemed to be here for his blood.

Oswald has Arthur's armour in his grip, the move Arthur'd done just yesterday returned to him with a vengeance. He saw Oswald's eyes for a brief moment.

Arthur had grown accustomed to that heartbeat before death.

But a sword appeared to block, and Oswald hit the dirt. _Merlin had cleaned his armour._ Arthur shook himself as he stood, and his once ally stood as well. Just like that, there were two.

"They'll expect us to fight to the end now." Arthur removed his helmet, stabbed his sword into the ground. "You fought bravely. The field is yours."

The visor went up, and Gwaine gave him a nod.

Arthur smiled incredulously, despite his heart hammering against his chest. "I should've know."

Gwaine threw his helmet to the ground.

* * *

Arthur met Gwaine and Merlin in Gaius' quarters after the crowd had gone home. Gaius was binding Gwaine's shoulder, gauze upon gauze as the stab wound from the Stalorne blade. Arthur had one to match lower down his own sword arm, by the crook of his elbow that every time he bent it, it would start to bleed again.

The two sat shoulder to shoulder on the patient's bed, both glaring at Merlin as he prepared a tonic for each of them to drink.

"It was sorcery, you know," Arthur started in the silence. Gwaine looked over. "And the King is prepared to overlook the fact that you fought in the mêlée."

"That's fantastic!" Merlin said, stopping his pouring to smile. Arthur didn't miss the way he set down the pot to roll his shoulders before he began again.

"Thank you, Arthur," Gwaine said quietly.

Arthur adjusted his grip on the gauze Gaius told him to put pressure on. "But... he's a stubborn man. He will not rescind his judgment. You must leave Camelot."

Gwaine gave a rueful smile. Nodded once.

Merlin was shaking his head. "You've got to go speak with him, Arthur, make him change his mind—"

"Merlin," Gwaine couldn't meet his eyes though.

Arthur pressed harder, hoping the pain would distract him from his emotions. "I'm sorry, Gwaine. My father's wrong. If it were up to me—"

"I know. You don't need to explain yourself."

"You have until sunset."

There was a beat of silence.

"Merlin, put the pot down."

Arthur and Gwaine looked at each other again. They'd said it in unison.

Merlin slowly put the pot down, looking confused.

"Gaius, three days ago Merlin dislocated his shoulder defending himself in a tavern brawl."

"Arthur started it," Gwaine supplied helpfully. The old physician's eyebrows shot upward.

Arthur waved that fact away. "He said I fixed it when we popped it back into place by a log, but he was in and out of consciousness on the ride back. I had someone carry him up here, but by the time I had caught up—"

"I was ordering him around," Gaius finished. "How did I not see the signs?"

Merlin was still frozen in his place in the center of the room.

"It's my fault, Gaius. I thought if I couldn't order him to go to you, I'd order him to do things that would make him have to go to you. I… I should apologize for letting Oswald, no _Dagr,_ use you the way they did. I shouldn't have had you working my armour and cleaning those boots."

Merlin started to protest.

"It's my fault, too. I… I can't face feelings, Merlin. And I bury them under quarts of whiskey and beer. You dragged me home, and I barely remember it, but I collapsed in your bed. Have you slept since I arrived?" Gwaine said, his voice tight. Merlin's silence was a louder answer than Arthur wanted to hear. "I thought not."

"How much pain are you in, my boy?" Gaius said quietly, and Arthur was certain he wasn't suppose to hear Merlin's even quieter answer.

"A lot."

Gwaine shoved him over. "Move over, Princess."

Arthur blustered. "Wh-_what_ did you just call me?"

But they both moved over, and Gaius guided Merlin to sit down next to the two of them. Gaius gave Gwaine and Arthur both the tonic Merlin had been preparing. Gwaine gave him a cheeky smile and raised the glass, clinking it against Arthur's before downing it. Arthur followed suit.

Gaius was slowly prodding Merlin's shoulder. "It's gone and started to heal wrong, Merlin. And the strain you've put on it… your arm wasn't ready. I'll have to try it again."

"Try what again?" Arthur asked. He had a sinking feeling he knew the answer.

"Relocating it, Sire. I'll have it out and in again, the ligaments and nerves will take the brunt of the trauma, but he should gain full use of the arm within a few weeks."

Gwaine took hold of Merlin's good shoulder. "I don't like the sound of that."

Merlin was already gripping the side of the bed. "Gaius—I was going to tell you. I swear I was. I just… I thought I could…" Merlin made a pained face. "That hurts, Gaius."

Gaius _"hmmed."_

Gwaine got up, still holding the gauze to his shoulder, and walked into Merlin's room. He came back with a bottle.

"You'll want some of this, mate," he said, taking his seat on the other side of Merlin, so that Arthur was on one end, and Gwaine on the other.

The physician said some jargon that Arthur couldn't translate about why Merlin shouldn't drink Gwaine's questionable alcohol. Gwaine shrugged and tipped the bottle back.

"You should go, Sire." Merlin's voice was nearly a croak. He was nervous.

Arthur wasn't sure when he started to pick up on Merlin's thoughts.

"We're not going," Arthur said firmly.

"We stay here, mate." Gwaine took another swig.

Gaius dribbled two drops of a vial onto Merlin's tongue, having him lie back as Merlin's eyelids fluttered unsteadily.

"I should have done better," Arthur blurted. "Gaius, I should have gotten this right the first time." _Prove myself, prove myself, prove myself. _"If there's something I can do to make this right—"

"S'not your fault, Arthur," Merlin slurred.

Gaius gave a gentle smile. "Help him relax."

Gwaine set the bottle aside, his fingers twitchy and uncertain. Almost as uncomfortable as Arthur was.

"I think I'll go to Mercia," he said to Merlin.

Merlin's unfocused eyes met Gwaine's. "It's dangerous."

"Yeah," Gwaine kept fiddling with the sheet on the bed. "But you get a lot more ale for your money." At Merlin's groan, Gwaine quickly added: "I'm only joking, Merlin."

"Arthur'll figure out a way to get the King to grant you pardon, you could stay in Camelot, serve the King—"

"I couldn't serve under a man like Uther."

Arthur pressed harder on the cut above his elbow.

"You helped me, Gwaine." Arthur didn't mean to say anything at all. The words tumbled out on their own.

"You stood up for me."

Merlin gave a tired smile. "I knew he would."

"Showed he was a noble man." Gwaine nodded into the fabric bunched in his hands. Arthur's heart felt strangely warmed.

_"Stay, please_. You and Arthur fought well together," Merlin insisted.

"Maybe one day we will again."

Arthur saw Gaius moving in, bracing his hands on Merlin's shoulder, tying a weight on his wrist, adjusting it so his arm hung over the edge of the patient bed. Gwaine and Arthur moved to the edge of the bed.

Arthur saw it—what he'd missed it the first time, in the tavern, where he should have been protecting him. He took hold of his good hand and squeezed on instinct.

With the sound of ugly, wet cobblestone, Merlin's shoulder dislocated again.

Merlin's eyes were wide. "That was my shoulder," he croaked.

"Merlin, tell me how much you hate tournaments." Arthur squeezed his hand again, distracting.

The boy wet his lips, answering slowly. "Bunch of men clobbering each other 'round the head."

Gwaine jumped on board. "Thoroughbred little braggarts getting their anger out with sticks. Bet most of them were whining out there about the sun, too."

"Ah? You two wouldn't understand how a knight feels."

_A chance to prove himself. A chance to show he was more than just a shining sword at his father's side._

Another _crack, _and Gaius had it back in its place.

Merlin looked green.

"There you are, my boy." Gaius massaged Merlin's shoulder, and the room watched as Merlin jolted away from the old man's touch. "I'll do nothing more tonight."

"Could've been worse," Merlin rasped. Gwaine spit out the drink.

"Merlin, I haven't heard a worse sound since I was in Caerleon, and was tricked into drinking spoilt sheep's milk."

Merlin let out a wet laugh. "I'm tired enough that that's actually funny, Gwaine."

Arthur cleared his throat. "You should say your goodbyes in the morning. Get some sleep both of you. Any provisions you need, Gwaine, I'll be happy to supply. As long as its not liquor."

Gwaine clasped Arthur's hand. "You're a good man, Arthur."

Arthur acknowledge the comment with a tilt of his head. "Thank you for everything you did, Gwaine. For protecting my manservant especially."

"I could've done better."

They looked at Merlin lying there, Gaius smoothing a salve over the joint in silence. With his shirt pulled low, they could see his mottled collarbone, the swollen tendons around his neck and arm.

"I'm constantly asking for a second chance to," Arthur admitted. Gwaine slapped him on the back, and Arthur averted his eyes.

He left with only hours until sunrise, and despite his exhaustion, he couldn't sleep.

_Prove himself, prove himself, prove himself._

* * *

Merlin stood next to him as they watched Gwaine walk away down the streets of Camelot, his arm confined to an uncomfortable-looking sling and a sad smile on his face. Arthur had practically carried him down to the Square; Gaius had him drugged to the tip of his big ears.

Gwaine turned around and waved. Merlin waved back with his good arm.

"It's a shame. He would've been a great knight," Arthur said.

"Maybe one day he still will."

"The rules won't allow it. Knights are noblemen. Always have been, always will be. It's a tradition that..." Arthur caught himself. Gwaine tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, talking with Guinevere. "They seem very friendly."

Merlin elbowed him. "Why should you care?"

"I don't."

She touched his chest. They were laughing. Arthur's lungs weren't constricting in the slightest.

"Its—just, she could do better than him."

"What?" Merlin said smugly. "She should be setting her sights higher?"

Arthur shrugged. Maybe.

"Oh, but I forget! She can't. A girl of Gwen's standing, no. She could never consort with a nobleman. That's the rules."

Arthur glared at him. "Merlin."

"Shut up?"

"Guessed it."

Gwaine disappeared among the heads of Camelot civilians, and he gave Merlin a gentle shove that still sent him reeling. Arthur wrapped an arm around him, disguising his steadying by ruffling his manservant's hair.

Merlin laughed, _really laughed, _as Arthur steered him back to Gaius' quarters.


	8. Chapter 8

**8\. Lower Cannon**

a. Protection for the lower arm.

* * *

Season 3, Episode 13: the Coming of Arthur (Part II).

For all of you out there at home, fighting this virus, this chapter is for you. Stay safe.

* * *

Merlin was on all fours in the corner of their shelter.

"Having a little lie down there, Merlin?" Arthur said, a jab that Merlin would hopefully take as a hidden apology.

"No," came the immediate answer, Merlin whipping around to face him.

"Good. Because the time for sleeping is over."

_I'm sorry for treating you so badly, and refusing to come to your aide, and for leaving my kingdom behind when it needs me._

Merlin must've heard. "You seem… better."

Arthur was back in full armour, having dressed mostly himself with Gwaine's reluctant help after a few complaints. He knew his week of mourning his sister—after so long of mourning her loss in such a different way—was selfish, was cruel, and was exactly what Morgana was hoping he would do. His father could be dead, and he was in the mouth of a cave as his kingdom burned. Merlin saw that all. Arthur took a long breath.

"You're hopeless at a lot of things, Merlin. Well, most thing, in fact. But very occasionally, quite by accident, you say something useful."

"Really?"

_Come on, Merlin, really. _"Yesterday, amongst all your gibberish, you said something that, if I didn't know you, I'd be completely fooled into thinking you were..." _Don't make me finish this._

"What?"

Arthur averted his eyes. "Wise."

"Nah." Even as Merlin said it, his eyes seemed a bit brighter.

Then a rustle. Someone attempting to be quiet but going at too fast of a pace to really cover their tracks. Or someone in pursuit.

Arthur grabbed onto Merlin's shirt and dragged him to the entrance of the cave, his sword at the ready. Whatever instinct had him inching toward whoever was about to ruin their week of hiding from Morgana and her wicked, reaching reign had him also keeping his manservant close to him. His fist could feel the hammering of Merlin's heart.

The footfall grew closer, _closer_.

Gwaine, Merlin, and him advanced, hiding themselves behind an outcropping.

Then lashing out, sword behind his grasp but only barely, he was face to face with-

"Guinevere!" Arthur choked, his adrenaline draining out of him. "Sir Leon."

There was a second-long embrace and an armour-jarring handshake, but then there was Elyan, sword out of scabbard, running at top speed. His instinct had his hands full of Gwen and Merlin now, pushing them forward back into a run even before Elyan started to shout.

"We've been found! They're almost upon us!"

Arthur let go of Merlin. "Find Gaius," he said, tumbling over his words as he sent him off with a shove. "We need to get out of here. Run!"

Darkness was fast approaching. The valley—dripping moss and wet leaves and _too slippery to stand ground and fight—_surrounded them, towering over them as a reminder of their one route to escape was through. The rocks were too steep to climb up. And Merlin hadn't followed.

Arthur's mind processed their odds as black-clad, faceless men filled the exit to the valley. They were outnumbered, trapped, and—

_"Look out!"_

Rocks, the immovable kind that land with a crack that shakes one's soul, rumbled off the ledge in tens and hundreds, filling the static space between Arthur and the enemy soldiers.

The voice that shouted warning appeared overhead, their features barely recognizable in the gathering dark. _Please let it be Merlin_.

He squinted. _Not Merlin._ "Who is that?"

Gwaine let out a relieved laugh. "Dunno, but I'm liking him already."

Guinevere recognized them first. "Lancelot?"

Lancelot's face appeared as he leaned. "We need to hurry."

Arthur craned his neck one more time. _Come on Merlin, where are you?_

_ Don't make me make the decision to leave you behind._

At Arthur's signal, they all took off at a sprint, Arthur feeling the unfamiliar clang of armour not put on by Merlin, the small group making good ground as they followed Lancelot and the stranger above them. The valley was behind them in minutes, and the rocks held fast. The soldiers would have to reroute to find them again—it could take a full day, and they had lost their scent.

"I take it that rock fall wasn't an accident," Arthur said, assuming he gave a smile but not completely sure. He slammed his sword into the dirt. _Merlin's bloody neckerchief, he better be safe._

Lancelot shook his head, clasping his tall, broad-shouldered friend on the back. "This is Percival. It was his strength that brought them down."

"Your Highness." Percival nodded reverently, his voice so much softer than Arthur would have imagined.

"Arthur." Lords, if they were going to all die together, he might as well die with the thought he was among friends who fought with him because they wanted to, not because he'd behead them if they didn't.

He smiled, reached out an armoured arm and Percival took it, smiling too.

Like they hadn't nearly died.

"Arthur it is."

After a moment, when Arthur was really truly sure they were still alive, he pulled his hands through his hair. He looked at Lancelot and Percival. "What on earth were you doing here?"

"Er—"

Arthur could have torn his hair out. _Merlin. _

"I sent for him." The boy shrugged, looking out of breath and sweaty to the point his nearly-grown-back hair stuck up in odd places and his shirt was almost black instead of blue. Somewhere, he had picked up a sword and he wore it on his belt.

"Well, we owe you our lives. Thank you."

Thank you came out easier with another smile, a shake with Lancelot. A whack to the back of Merlin's sweaty head.

* * *

"Are you sure we are safe here?" Gaius voiced as the group made their way up the last hill and into the wide oak door of one of the castles Arthur knew by heart, one of his childhood playgrounds and practice halls.

"This castle belonged to the ancient kings. It'll do for a while," he said.

"Can't be worse than the cave," Elyan said, pointing his torch at a cobweb thick as mud.

"Search the place, see what you can find." Arthur couldn't respond to Elyan. He wasn't completely sure if it was better than the cave. Morgana played here once too.

Merlin followed him up some chamber stairs, grabbing wood from dusty stock piles and from broken legs of chairs. He placed them all in the hearth, lighting it after Gwen lit the candles surrounding the center of the circular room.

Then Arthur remembered.

_Tall, gangly Morgana and stocky, ten year old Arthur hold a council meeting, the old circular table just high enough for their knobby elbows to rest on, all official-looking. Morgana, her voice low and echoing in the large room, leaned in closer as Arthur sat across from her, eager to hear her tale._

_"Come and join me, Arthur. This table belonged to the ancient kings of Camelot—can't you feel them in this space? They still haunt their chairs, eager to serve their leader with undying loyalty and honor. A round table afforded no one more importance than any other. They believed in equality in all things. That means they would follow a woman, or a man, or a fairy, if they fought well enough and their cause was just."_

_Oh, how Arthur wanted to be one of those men._

_"Would you follow me, Arthur? And pledge your loyalty to me around this table?" Morgana said, arching one of her eyebrows. She put her dulled-edged sword in the middle, pointing directly at his little fast-beating heart._

_"Yes!" he had said so proudly, puffing out his chest. He thought he could feel the ghosts of loyal men around him then, proud of him for being brave and loyal and full of the purest honor a boy of ten could ever hope to call his own._

_"Good. And I pledge my loyalty to you around this table too."_

Arthur could feel the ghosts, stronger now than even then, when his imagination wasn't tied down by the rules of his father.

A clatter resounded as Gwaine set down a cloth-full of weapons for all to see.

"Must've been left by bandits," Gwaine said, but the way he spoke made it sound like he hadn't quite convinced himself that was the answer.

_Come and join me, Arthur. This table belonged to the ancient kings of Camelot—can't you feel them in this space?_

Arthur looked at the table, covered in its old worn cloth. As if it was waiting once again for him to test if he was loyal, brave, honorable.

If he would pledge his life with those whose cause was just.

And if his sister was not at the table, then so be it. She chose her side.

Arthur would choose his.

He took a firm hold of the cloth, and with a tug it revealed the table just how he remembered it.

"Here!" Arthur watched as all the heads in the room turned to him. "Come and join me."

Gaius was already sitting, joined by Gwaine, Elyan, Lancelot, Percival, Leon, Gwen. Merlin hesitated, but when Lancelot motioned for him to take his place, he did.

Arthur rapped his knuckles on the stone surface, using the dull pain to drive the rest of Morgana's speech into his head. All the good things she had said, all the history she had so effortlessly memorized.

"This table belonged to the ancient kings of Camelot. A round table afforded no one man more importance than any other. They believed in equality in all things. So," he didn't know how to continue without her guidance. "it seems fitting that we revive this tradition now."

He thought of Morgana, how she hid her hurt with hatred, and her weakness with a quick sword. He was taught to do the same.

"Without each of you, we would not be here," he continued. His eyes were inexplicably drawn to Merlin's face, who held a small grin. "My father has languished in prison for too long. Tomorrow, I make my bid to rescue him. Are there any around this table who will join me?"

An awful silence. The ghosts were restless around him.

Then Lancelot stood.

"You taught me the values of being a knight, the code by which a man should live his life. To fight with honour for justice, freedom, and all that's good. I believe in the world that you will build." Lancelot nodded a few times, his eyes never leaving Arthur's.

"Even though I was a commoner, a nobody, you were willing to lay down your life for me, Arthur." Elyan stood. "It is now my turn to repay you."

Leon stood grimly. "I have fought alongside you many times. There is no one that I would rather die for."

_You're a good soldier. An even better friend, _Arthur tried to say through his nod, his frustratingly wet eyes.

"I think we've no chance. But I wouldn't miss it for the world." Gwaine got up from his chair with a smirk.

"Your enemies are my enemies," Percival said, standing.

Gaius got up, folding his hands. "If you need an old man."

Gwen pushed up from the armrests and gathered herself for a moment, looking away from Arthur before meeting his gaze.

"You know the answer," she said quietly. And Arthur knew it, and he loved her even more for it even as his heart ached at the thought of her in harm's way.

He looked at them all—their grim-set stances, their hard fought scars and weapons and muscle, their eyes focused on Arthur with the kind of admiration he didn't deserve but was humbled he had—and the ghosts went away.

That left:

"Merlin."

"No I don't really fancy it," Merlin said.

"You don't have a choice, _Mer_lin."

Merlin cocked his head a bit, shrugging in just the slightest way that Arthur knew he never really contemplated it, just like all the other times Arthur had him at his side when they knocked at death's door.

Merlin stood.

Arthur's lips quirked, and he gave Merlin a grateful nod that Merlin must have known was about more than just standing at his request.

He nodded back, just a twitch of seriousness and sadness that he tried to cover with a grin shortly after. He understood then, though Arthur wasn't sure when they had become fluent in each other's silent messages. Not everyone was yet, however.

"I want to thank you all for staying loyal to me in Camelot's hour of need. I'll do something that my father won't approve of." A proper thank you being only one of those things he would have loathed Arthur for doing.

By the hearth, he had each of his friends kneel.

He switched his sword around in his hand. With a breath, he began.

"Arise, Sir Lancelot, Knight of Camelot."

Lancelot stood. Arthur thought of how much it would hurt to lose him, how much he valued his heart that outweighed any nobleman he had ever met.

"Arise, Sir Gwaine, Knight of Camelot."

Gwaine stood. Arthur saw how his easy smile had become more pained, that this knighting was more than just a formality to him. He grasped his shoulder, and he felt the carefree man go stoic.

"Arise, Sir Percival, Knight of Camelot."

Percival stood. His old chain mail and minimal armour told Arthur enough about his background, and the gentleness that coupled with fearlessness shown through as Arthur held his gaze.

"Arise, Sir Elyan, Knight of Camelot."

Elyan stood, glancing quickly at his sister. Arthur saw him grip one of the swords his father had crafted at his hip, could feel how eager he was to show how much he had learned, how much he cared.

"Tomorrow, when you fight, you can stand proud knowing you are members of the most noble army the world has ever known," Arthur said to the men who bowed their heads.

He turned to face Merlin, who stood back just far enough that the firelight touched the tips of his boots and just warmed his face.

Arthur set down his sword.

"I'll find some mats," Merlin said in a quiet rasp. He turned too quickly for Arthur to translate his expression.

* * *

"There is a tunnel under the northern ramparts that brings us only a few paces from the entrance to the dungeons. It will be well guarded. So, if we're going to break everyone out, we must remain unobserved. We cannot let them raise the alarm."

All stood around the table once again, solemn as Arthur broke apart their plan.

"We need to take out the warning bell," Lancelot said. "That way the warriors have no mean of communication."

"Brilliant," Gwaine said. "But you'll need someone who knows the castle."

"I'll go." Merlin stood taller, eyes locked with Lancelot.

"Alright," Arthur said after a moment. Something… whatever it was, Gaius' face said he saw into it too.

The group broke apart, each to ready their weapons or minds. They were to leave at Arthur's command. But not without making sure two people were ready for this.

Gently, he took Gwen's arm in his hand.

"Stay here with Gaius," he said. She set jaw. "I want you to gather firewood and make bandages. There'll be casualties."

Just saying it made everything they were about to do more real.

"Alright," came her forced reply. She went to walk away. He caught her.

"Guinevere," he tried not to voice his hurt. This could be there last chance to say they loved one another, their most final goodbye. And Arthur was used to the thought of goodbyes being final, but it made it harder to breathe thinking of it when he looked into her eyes.

"They'll see," she whispered.

"I don't care. I want you to know...if I never see you again..."

There it was, his throat closing up with a hard knot, making it near impossible to inhale.

"You will. You will see me again. I watched you last night." She took his face in her hands. "You gave us hope, something to believe in. I saw the king you will become. I'm so proud of you Arthur."

She kissed him.

* * *

Arthur didn't have time to check with his second person. He had already packed their supplies, made food, piled more fire for Gwen and Gaius, and was ready with his new picked-pocketed sword at his side.

For everyone's safety, they started out at dawn, where the ground was just frozen enough that their tracks would melt away soon, and their sound would be minimal. Wet earth stuck to his greaves.

He'd traveled this route to the castle only once before, when he and Merlin had snuck off together on his birthday, the slap mark still prominent on Arthur's cheek from his father's scolding. Merlin had picked leaves along the way, chewing them in his mouth and then smeared them on Arthur's stinging face. The prince had nearly lobbed a slap at his manservant before he realized what Merlin had done.

_"Feel any better?" Merlin had asked tentatively, still standing far enough out of Arthur's swinging reach._

_"It… does." _

Merlin had just nodded, staying just enough ahead of him that Arthur wouldn't be able to reach and wring his neck, but close enough that he could hear him if he decided to say thank you. Which, Arthur was fairly certain, he never did.

The guards on the castle wall rotated.

With a terse wave, his men were off, running through the last leg of forest and into the outer yard of the castle Arthur had called home.

They were inside without consequence, and one by one, Arthur waved them through the corridors and up the staircase lit by torches that made the large stones dance. He waved Merlin and Lancelot through last.

_Good luck, both of you. I swear if you don't come back from this,_ Arthur voiced silently. Merlin gave a twitch of a nod. Lancelot stared solemnly.

Then they were gone.

Gwaine, Percival, Leon were already on their way to the dungeons and Arthur followed silently, refusing to let his shadow set him on edge. He checked each cell—old man, young man, beggar, lord—but his father wasn't in normal holding.

"He's not here," he hissed.

There was a clatter as guards filled the halls outside.

"I suppose this is where I come in?" Gwaine saluted.

Gwaine, playing bait with his swagger and his fast sprint, was back in moments. With useless swords, the knights moved as one. Smart, dodging and leading at Leon's call—the palace map ingrained in his mind. Their pursuers locked inside a cell, Arthur called them forward again, and they followed him up the next corridor, even closer to where he could only assume his father would be.

The second holding cells had ten of his knights, standing at attention the moment Arthur entered. Their red capes were battered and dirty. They looked thin, and worn, and Arthur laughed despite himself.

"Your highness!" came a cry, and soldiers crashed into his drawn sword.

As useless as it would be to fight immortals, his men did the same, throwing themselves at the black-clad men until Elyan cried out from a wound to the arm. Arthur risked a glance back, seeing the young man being swallowed by his comrades in a defensive position. He also saw a set of keys forgotten in the rush.

Arthur slid his sword on the table, looping the key ring and flung it at the bars. He didn't see if they were caught or not as a soldier took a swing at his ear. He blocked, but he could hear the ring of their connection even after he kicked the man backwards.

They kept coming, men _worse than the ghosts and worse than his memory's of his sister._

Red swarmed him, and he was swallowed back just as Elyan was as the soldiers were pushed into the cell the knights of Camelot just vacated.

"Go, Sire!" Leon shouted over the din.

Arthur ran, leaving them all behind.

The furthest, deepest dungeon. Of course Morgana would place their father there, let him rot where there was no light. His hands weren't cooperating, seeing his father's face turned away from him, covered in grime and looking dazed. _But at least he was alive._ He shoved the key in, wrenching the door open.

"Father, we have to hurry."

"I'm sorry." His father didn't look at him. It made Arthur's heart clench. He didn't move even as Arthur unlocked his chains—_excessive Morgana, don't you think?_—and put an arm under his father's armpits.

"Please, Father. Now's not the time."

And he lifted, because he wasn't sure what else to do but carry his father out of his cell and take him to safety. Apologizing didn't help; his father's feet cooperating would help.

Besides, he would have to be more specific what he was apologizing for.

* * *

It wasn't long before his knights can't hold back the waves of Morgana's soldiers—enemy soldiers—and Arthur was forced to shove his father aside and draw his useless weapon once again. His muscles, shot from dragging Uther, protested as he clashed again and again with the living dead.

The warning bell tolls.

"What the hell are those two doing?" Arthur shouted, because _if Merlin and Lancelot are dead, or they didn't make it in time, or they're lying injured somewhere unreachable in the castle walls—_

A sword swung for the worried creases in his forehead, and Arthur's forced to rip at another black-clad soldier's chest without result. _There wasn't hope if Merlin was dead,_ he thought, as much in the grip of the dire warning tone as his father. _Merlin, walking into a deathtrap with no armour on, some sword he picked off of a dead man. _

There were swarms of the soldiers, flooding down the stairs and from balconies and through hallways. They're backed against the wall.

Elyan's bloodstained the floor beneath their feet as he feebly tried to staunch his shoulder wound with a shaky hand. His sword had been dropped, but he still held himself overtop of the king. Gwaine fought in front of them, grimacing with each impact a sword made with his own. Arthur felt the soldiers press again, closing off the distance until he couldn't make a full thrust with his sword in any direction without contacting with an enemy weapon.

_I can't die without knowing if Merlin is safe,_ Arthur thought suddenly_. I don't want to die without Merlin at my side._ It sent a spike through his heart.

"If we go down," Arthur shouted, his voice cracking with his effort to overpower the constant clash of metal. "We go down _fighting._ For the love of Camelot!"

His knights gave a battle cry.

But the soldiers pressed in closer, and Arthur felt his chain mail give way on his side, then his shoulder. Percival grunted as the tip of a sword ghosted over the bridge of his nose. Leon was practically standing on top of Elyan and the king now, hunched with one arm on the wall to steady himself, the other stubbornly, shakily in a defensive pose. Gwaine dropped to his knees, but Arthur didn't see where he was hit.

They were going to die.

Die like Lancelot, and Merlin. _Merlin._

Arthur raised his sword one last time, ramming his body forward with no strength left in his arms. There were things he wished he could say, but his mouth didn't seem to work, nor his legs very well, or his eyes. The world tilted forward and he pitched through the front line with a low stab he knew would do nothing.

Then, a bright light.

A burning sensation sinking through his armour as fine ashes still alight with embers dusted the air. He breathed them into his lungs, and his throat burned. It coated his eyes, and he blinked and blinked to try to clear them. He would not believe he had killed a soldier until he saw it, embers or corpse, it didn't matter.

Another soldier lit and crumbled. Arthur was taking hitched breaths now, as were the others, coughing with hot tears streaming down their dirty faces. Leon was covering his mouth, Gwaine his eyes.

Arthur didn't dare take his gaze off of the ashes.

He caught a flake in his glove, watching it burn a hole straight through the leather and onto his skin where it seared the shape half the size of a nail head.

They had…they had _won. _

The knights took hold of one another, some arms draped around shoulders while others covered their faces from the raining ember. Elyan was picked up and supported between Percival's strong frame and Leon's. Arthur took hold of his father's arm, using his body to shield him from the burns that hissed on the back of his neck and ears.

"You're safe now, Father," he said, hardly recognizing his rasp of a voice. His father, curled into the tightest knot against the stone, looked up. Arthur sheathed his sword, took his father's hands, and helped him to his feet. His muscles spasmed, but he managed to keep hold of Uther.

Elyan, eyes still watering beneath closed lids and in between his friends gave a choked plea. "Where's Gwaine? I saw him go down, I need to know he's all right."

"'M still alive," came Gwaine's slurred reply. "N' that's Sir Gwaine to you."

Gwaine limped to Percival's other side, only accepting a guiding gait to steady him.

Dust replaced the ashes as they made their way farther into the castle; from the higher levels, destruction was still at large. Arthur felt adrenaline try to weakly revive his energy as he handed his father to Leon, and took off up the stairs at a sprint.

"Sire!" came Leon's echoing voice as he took the stones two, then three at a time. "Where—?"

But Arthur didn't wait to hear him finish.

More ashes coated his way, and he nearly slipped as his boots lost traction in the simpering piles that used to be men. Pillars were being toppled, and glass windows blown outward from the inside and just the opposite. Arthur followed the damage, drawing his sword in his blistered hands again.

There was screaming.

_Morgana's screaming._

But more pain-filled, more awful than he had ever heard it in his lifetime at her side. He wanted to cover his ears, knowing he wished this sort of pain on her for what she had done to his people, his father, yet at the same time desperately wanting to run faster to come to her aid.

Arthur stopped tracking the rubble and ran toward the cries.

But they lashed to a stop, and a rush of silence met Arthur's pounding head so hard that he came to a halt as well. Ashes guarded the doorway he now stood before. He reached for the handles, yanked them open, realizing that most of the support had been destroyed as well. They opened.

Merlin on his knees, Gaius over him, Lancelot propped against the remains of a stone pillar. They all were coated in glass and ashes; Merlin wearing tattered cloth and Lancelot's hair still smoking.

"Merlin," Arthur said almost to himself, almost just to convince himself that his manservant had escaped death again. "Lancelot, Gaius, what happened? The bell—"

"I need to get them to my quarters, Sire," Gaius interrupted.

Arthur kept scanning the room. _Morgana's screams, he had heard her—_

When Arthur bent to Merlin's level, horror reflected in his eyes. They were empty, wouldn't meet his own, cloudy and wet. All too similar to when Arthur sat next to him after the slavers had hold of him.

Blood coated everything.

"Merlin," he said quietly despite the screaming in his head. Then he turned to Gaius. "Where is he hurt? Where is all this blood coming from?"

Gaius pulled back the tattered remains of Merlin's jacket.

His whole body was covered in burns, and there were seeping patches on his arms that made Arthur's stomach churn.

Merlin looked dazed.

"You're all right now," he said again, not as confident as he had said it to his father. "The soldier's are dust, and I have men searching the castle for survivors. Can you walk?"

Merlin didn't reply. Just stared a hole through Arthur's dented, armoured chest.

"Let's have you lazy daisy," Arthur added, a weak attempt to get a response.

Arthur couldn't suppress the tremor that went up his battered body as he lifted Merlin off of the ground and into his arms. Lancelot, gripping his side, tried to come to Arthur's aide but could barely shuffle along by himself let alone bear weight.

Gaius' quarters weren't far. Arthur forced one foot in front of the other, feet disrupting the piles of rubble and ash that lay in his path. Gaius hobbled beside him, holding Merlin's head from lolling.

Another step. Another step. He could make it a little longer. He would not drop Merlin, he wouldn't let him down.

Prove himself. Prove himself. Prove himself.

Arthur walked slowly. At one point, he kicked off a greave that was loose and it clanged to the floor. His leg didn't feel any lighter without it. All adrenaline gone, every last horror settling into his mind.

_Prove himself. Prove himself. Prove himself._

When the last staircase that led to the last hallway arrived, Arthur had to lean on the banister and shove a foot onto the first step with the leverage.

His knees were giving out. Gaius must have seen this, too, because he started talking fast but Arthur couldn't understand him. The world was slowing down, and his lungs were getting sluggish with it.

_Prove…_

Strong arms on either side of him, someone trying to peel Merlin from his grip. If his arms would cooperate he would fight them, but all he seemed to have the capability of doing was just dragging in one breath after another.

The stairs float underneath him. He was picked up, like he had picked up Merlin, and Gaius' mouth was still moving.

He started to cough black, black spit—

* * *

Arthur woke to find himself lying on Gaius' patient bed, every muscle screaming and his breath feeling like it was coming through the thinnest of holes.

When he managed to pick his head up, he saw Gwaine.

"Arthur?" he said in a croak, not bothering to insult him. "Can you hear me?"

Arthur nodded.

There was a collective breath of relief that filled the room, then a chorus of coughing. Arthur peeled himself further off of the bed to find Gaius' quarters stacked with the men he had knighted at the round table.

Gwaine was perched at his bedside, sitting on one chair with his plastered leg propped on another. He was coughing into his shirtsleeve, which once white was now a matted gray. Once he could take a steady breath again, he smiled.

"We've been bothering Gauis with our lungs since you collapsed. S'why we're all holed up here together."

Arthur got a good look around him then, seeing Leon with his head tipped back trying to suck in air, his shirt off and replaced with thick sheets of gauze and bandages. Elyan lay on the floor, arm slung to his chest tightly. Percival's face could barely be seen under the immense amount of ointment on his nose and cheeks and neck. Lancelot was missing from the group, but in the silence Arthur could hear his soft voice coming from Merlin's closed door. Everyone was spotted with burns, their eyes red, and their handkerchiefs and shirtsleeves covered in soot.

Leon gave a weak salute. "We won, Sire."

Arthur tried to clear his throat. "We did." Then. "Is my father well? Where's Merlin? And Gwen—?"

Gaius' hand appeared on his forehead, cool against his skin.

"They are all alive, now tell me about how well you can breathe."

"I want to see him," Arthur rasped.

"Your father?"

"Merlin."

The old man nodded. "When he's ready, I'll move you all into his room so I have space to work. Patience, Arthur."

Patience turned the room silent, save for the coughing bouts.

Elyan woke an hour later, and needed the last of the battle retold to him. Gwaine spoke about it with a heavy, tired, scratching voice: about their first dissolving soldier, about the raining embers and Arthur taking off and not telling them where he was headed.

At this, eye glared at Arthur. "We would have come with you. We _should _have come with you. If what you said around that table was true…"

Gwaine started coughing again. Arthur looked away.

* * *

It wasn't until nightfall that Gaius opened the door to Merlin's room. All afternoon they heard Merlin's whimpers and hushed voices, never loud enough to make out. Arthur daydreamt about storming through the door and ordering Merlin to stop being such a self-sacrificing idiot. The reality was…he wasn't even strong enough to stand on his own two feet.

The old man helped each of the knights up and onto their own two feet or onto another's shoulder to move into Merlin's room, where he had set up thin cots of straw. Percival helped Gwaine in first, who greeted Merlin and Lancelot on the inside jovially before doubling over and hacking. Then Leon slowly made his way, arm wrapped around Elyan.

Arthur realized they were going to let him have the patient bed far too late.

"Gaius, how bad is it?"

Gaius looked up from the doorway. "How bad is what, Sire?"

Arthur motioned down his body. "Me. This, all. My injuries."

"You'll have to go slow, Sire. But I expect a full recovery. If you're asking to move down to your own quarters, though—"

"I want to be with my men."

Gaius gave a soft smile. "Of course, sire. But I'm not strong enough to move the bed into Merlin's room."

"I'll take a cot. I just…"

_After what we've been through…_

"It is often better for soldiers to be together for a period after trauma. I'll have Merlin move to a separate cot, and you take his bed." Arthur started to speak, but Gaius held up one of his withered hands. "He won't stand for it any other way."

Arthur was going to protest, but his first word sent his lungs reeling and he found himself coughing into his sleeve with Gaius' hand on his back, slowly rubbing.

When the coughing had ended, and he stopped shaking, Gaius held his arm as he made his way into Merlin's room.

"Now I'll finally have some elbow room to heal you all up," the old man joked, settling Arthur onto the edge of the only real bed. "I'll have salve for your burns in here in a few moments, and I expect all of you to apply it. No arguing."

Gwaine was muttering in the corner next to Merlin, who seemed asleep.

Gaius left the crowded room.

When he turned his back, Arthur settled onto the floor.

"Absolutely not," Leon said, pointing back at the bed. "You're to have the bed."

"I don't want the bed."

"Sire—"

"We'll rotate. Gaius said we'll be here 'till we stop coughing up gobs of soot, right? Then each day a different man gets the bed. Whoever Gaius requests." No one seemed convinced. "Well, let's have a vote then. Everyone in favor of sharing Merlin's bed, according to Gaius' medical reasons and not because of my status, raise their hand."

There was a general expression of dissatisfaction, but eventually, one by one, everyone raised their hand.

"Good. So we're all in agreement then. Elyan gets the bed first unless Gaius says otherwise. Then no one has to step over each other, and Elyan heals properly."

Percival and Leon helped the young man onto it, even as he argued that it should be someone else. In the scuffle, Merlin woke.

"S'going on?" he said. Gwaine had to lean in to hear him and amplify to the group.

"Nothing much, Merlin. We've invaded your bedroom, stole all your blankets, misplaced all your books, and now you've woken to us stealing your bed," Gwaine said, messing up his hair. Merlin smiled half a smile.

Then he coughed—and Arthur winced as his hands came away black.

The manservant's eyes went wide at the sight.

"It's the ashes from the soldiers. When they disappeared, they turned to embers and soot and we breathed it in. Gaius said it will be a while before our lungs get it all out," Leon explained, showing his own handkerchief in solidarity.

"Hurts like hell, but better out than in s'what I always say," Gwaine supplied.

Arthur leaned against the stone wall, the coolness refreshing his sore shoulder muscles. "How are you feeling, Merlin?" he asked, trying not to sound pointed.

"Better," Merlin whispered.

"He said better," Gwaine repeated.

"Ah. Then do you care to explain why you and Lancelot decided to not stop the warning bell, and go after the—"

"Salve. On every burn you can reach, and when you can't reach it one of the others will reach it for you. And don't ruin my stitching work," Gaius said loudly, passing about two bowls full of cream-colored goo.

Arthur took one, and decided his lecture could wait until the burns on his body stopped stinging.

The room—situated so that it went Arthur closest to the door, then Gwaine, Merlin, Lancelot, Percival, Elyan on the bed, and Leon on the other side—went studiously quiet as each man did as Gaius said.

"Reach my shoulder blade, will you Arthur?" Gwaine said, eyes averted. Arthur could tell he didn't really have practice asking for help.

Arthur took a handful of the salve and then passed the bowl forward. Then he dabbed what he guessed would be the right amount on the angry-looking welts across Gwaine's back.

"Did a soldier explode right on top of you, then?" Arthur asked. Gwaine shrugged.

"With my broken ankle, I couldn't get out of the way fast enough."

Arthur smeared some on the back of his own neck and shoulders, the fabric of his shirt sticking to his skin. Percival was placing more on his face and ears after Gaius wiped the old salve off. Merlin was staring down at his hands in his lap, and Lancelot looked as though he was deciding whether or not to talk to him.

"Pass it this way, Gwaine," Lancelot finally said, after two long moments of him working up the nerve. Gwaine handed the bowl to Merlin, who didn't take it, but instead Lancelot reached over him and grabbed it. "Thank you."

Gwaine returned to covering his burns. Arthur sat and stared at Merlin.

Who let Lancelot take his charred hands in his and place the salve on them with slow, gentle motions.

_Merlin,_ he wanted to say. _How did you get all of those?_

But slowly, a memory resurfaced of him on his knees in an upper chamber room of the castle, and Merlin's hands were covered in blood and Arthur didn't know if it was his own or—

Gaius came back to take the empty bowls.

"What do we do now?" Gwaine griped, taking hold of a water cup placed at the side of his cot. "Stuck in here for the foreseeable future… and there isn't even anything to drink other than foul potions and water."

"You're a knight now," Leon mumbled. "Your drunken habits are frowned upon. Think of the code—"

"This is exactly why I hoped Morgana's men would have finished him off," Gwaine pointed at Leon. Elyan started to laugh, still looking up at the ceiling.

"This is cruel punishment, being stuck in a room with him," Arthur added, nearly forgetting Merlin's hands as he joined the verbal banter. "I should have agreed to take the patient's bed outside."

Lancelot, still holding Merlin's hands, shook his head. "I thought having a sword tapped on either side of your head would have put something between them." Gwaine snorted loudly, but in doing so he spurted water out his nostrils all over Leon.

Which sent everyone into a fit of laughter that turned quickly into wheezing.

He watched as Merlin started to laugh too, a tentative one, testing his lungs for the occasion. It was a laugh that was trying to chase ghosts away.

Arthur knew it. Because he was doing the same.

And he thought of how things would be different when these men reemerged into the world burned to the ground by Morgana's will, with men that cared deeply and fought bravely and were loyal to him when he needed them most. Which was in battle, but also now.

He would have never guessed he could have smiled so soon after he had almost lost his kingdom, his father; he had lost his sister, and he had thought he had lost Merlin.

* * *

Day two of their quarantine, Arthur thought he would go insane.

Day three, and Arthur _was _going insane.

Gwaine snored, Elyan spoke in his sleep about days in his father's smithshop, it was almost as if they were on rotation with nightmares and who woke who with screaming. Merlin stayed mostly quiet in his corner. Each day, Gaius would help him outside and they would speak quietly to each other before he returned with newly wrapped hands and an exhausted look in his eyes. Each day, more of Merlin's books left with him.

Arthur's body was starting to behave like a body again, not twinging at every movement, not shaking when he lifted even the smallest of objects. They all slept a lot, and Gaius would listen to them breathe often, his ear to a cone pressed against each of their chests.

Arthur would badger the physician about his father, and about whether or not Gwen had been retrieved yet. The answers were never straightforward, leaving Arthur with more questions than before. Once, he managed to be awake when Merlin was asleep, and he pulled Gaius aside.

"He's not getting better, Gaius." Arthur hoped he staved off the worry in his voice, but he had a feeling it was unsuccessful.

"Merlin's working hard, Sire."

"I just…" _It would have been easier to have found him in the room… than slowly watching him…_

Day four, Merlin never woke.

His thin frame was shivering, and despite Lancelot giving his blanket to him, it didn't stop all night.

Day five, Arthur spent the day heaving, feeling worse than any day precedent.

Day six, Arthur couldn't remember.

By day seven, when Merlin walked back into his bedroom full of smelling, bickering knights, there was something different about him. He didn't carry his hands quite so gingerly, although they were still wrapped in pristine bandages. His usual exhausted gait was back to the spring that Arthur would have thrown a goblet at.

"You seem…better," Arthur read off of him.

"You're hopeless at a lot of things, Arthur. Most thing, in fact. But very occasionally, quite by accident, you say something useful," Merlin said, his voice at normal, Merlin pitch. _His lungs were clear._

Arthur would have breathed a sigh of relief, but his own lungs wouldn't have allowed it.

"Really?" Arthur said, and while his own voice still had its gravel, he was celebrating. _Even if Merlin is the only one that survives this, it will have been worth it that he gets to live without fear of Morgana's reign._

"Yes," Merlin sat down next to him. Their beds had rotated again, and Arthur was in the far corner. Most of his knights were asleep even at full daylight. "You said back at the table, amongst all your gibberish, something that, if I didn't know you, I'd be completely fooled into thinking you were wise."

Arthur quirked his eyebrow, recognizing his stumbling apology in the cave, sounding different in Merlin's mouth but much of the same sentiment.

"What did I say?"

Merlin just shook his head, shoving him with his shoulder that didn't much budge Arthur but made Merlin bounce back onto the wall. Arthur fought down the urge to ask if he was all right.

"Clotpole," Merlin said instead.

Arthur rolled his tired eyes. "Tell me why you didn't go after the warning bell. Merlin, you don't even know how to swing a sword correctly. How many times do I have to tell you to not dive headfirst into danger?"

Merlin's bright face dimmed. "Its what you would have done."

"I'm a bloody trained warrior, Merlin. What are you trained in? Sopping up dinner spills and laundry. Not…" he wavered. "Was Morgana there? In the room? With you?"

Merlin froze. Then slowly, he said. "Yes."

"Did…I mean, was she…?" but he couldn't finish.

"She's not dead, Arthur."

_Oh, God. _He couldn't tell if his breath got shallower because of his bad lungs, or if it was because his sister was alive. That meant they were all still in danger.

"But her sister—" Arthur started.

"She's dead."

"How?"

Merlin's eyes were back to looking haunted. "I don't know."

Arthur found himself nodding even though he wasn't nearly satisfied. There were so many things he needed to ask but… somehow, he knew that Merlin wasn't ready to say more. And miraculously, Arthur understood.

"As soon as we're—" Arthur's voice broke and he started to cough. His eyes were watering, his raw throat feeling like he had re-swallowed the embers for the hundredth time over. His ears were ringing.

Merlin's hand was on his back. And the pain started to lessen.

_Bloody hell, he had no idea how he had survived so much of his life without a friend like Merlin. Without Merlin._

His lungs felt lighter when he was done.

"You were saying?" Merlin asked.

Arthur thought. "As soon as we're out of here, and our lungs are better, I'm fitting you with armour and we're out to the practice fields for training."

"You have enough new recruits on your hands." Merlin motioned to the sleeping knights. "And I don't want armour."

"If you insist on constantly attracting danger—"

Merlin laughed. And it was clear, and good, and warm. "Things will be different now."

Arthur knew this. When he said it in his head, it sounded somber and heavy; when Merlin said it, it was full of hope.

"It will be."

* * *

Day eight and Arthur took his first deep breath.

The other knights did the same. Their spit came back with no soot; when Gaius listened to their lungs, he heard no rattling or hitching.

Merlin was fast asleep on the bed.

"He was so well yesterday! I don't understand," Arthur told Gaius. "He was lucid, and his lungs sounded so _clear."_

"He didn't sleep last night," was all Gaius said.

Day nine, and Arthur was already standing from his cot. "We ride out to retrieve Gwen tonight."

The others stood as well, some more unsteady than others.

Gaius tried to argue. "I don't think that is wise—"

"I'll ready the horses," Lancelot said.

"Food, provisions, I'll make sure everyone's supplies are full," Elyan said. Gaius was shaking one of his fingers at the young man.

"You're not weight bearing yet—"

"Finally, I'll bring the spirits!" Gwaine got up, hobbling, and clapped Percival on the back. Even Arthur caught a whiff of the stench that he stirred up doing so. "And a bath is in order."

"Now, Gwaine-"

"We'll have to find our weapons," Leon said. "I know the armory will be hard pressed, but we'll make do."

Arthur turned to run right into Gaius' glare.

"You're going nowhere, Sire. It's too dangerous, and your father—Your duties as prince may have been shifting as you rested."

The room cleared out around him as Arthur tried to process what Gaius was saying. _His father, when was the last time he saw him? Eight days ago. He knew he wasn't well. He had handed him to his men, and he had ran after Merlin. He had promised him he was going to be fine. Was he fine? Was he still alive? Was Arthur not there when—_

He knew he was spiraling, that his thoughts were tunneling even though he didn't have enough information to make conclusions.

Merlin's voice. "I'll stay with you, Arthur. Look at me."

Arthur looked at him. There were deep bags under his eyes, and he stood with a tired hunch. His hair stuck up where he had slept on it.

"Merlin."

"Breakfast?"

After they saw the knights off, newly fitted with Camelot-red capes, Arthur took Merlin up on his offer. They sat on the courtyard steps, the sun that Arthur had missed tingeing Merlin's pale cheeks pink. The manservant squinted one eye shut so he could look at him.

"Look at the state of your boots," Merlin mourned.

"Yeah?"

"You're not going to make me go clean them?"

"Have you lost your mind?" _Lords and ladies, the kid had woken up from a comatose state only hours ago. _Merlin was staring at him, one of his tired eyes twitching. That meant he wasn't acting Arthur enough for him. "Later today, I expect them to be flawless."

There, back to normal.

Now Merlin harrumphed. "Why? They're your boots aren't they? Thought you believed in equality now."

"I'm sorry?"

Merlin looked legitimately worried now. "At the round table, you said—"

"I know what I said, Merlin."

He gave him a friendly shove to be sure Merlin knew he meant it.

"How's your father?" Merlin asked, quieter now.

"I don't know." Arthur looked up at the castle, where his father would be in bed. "All this. Morgana… its hit him hard."

"Perhaps we're heading for a new time." How was his voice so steady when he said that? Arthur's stomach knotted the moment the subject was brought up. "You may need to take charge, become—"

"Who knows what the future will bring?" Arthur said hastily. He stood, feeling the healing burns on him stretch. "How are your hands, Merlin?"

Merlin held up his two wrapped hands and forearms, his fingers just barely poking out of the white fabric. "Probably not fit for shoe scrubbing quite yet," he said honestly. "But in good enough shape if you need to go on a walk."

_How did he do that, know exactly what Arthur needed?_

They walked for hours, until Arthur felt like he might collapse but the air that enters his lungs unburdened just felt so good, that it was almost as if he shouldn't stop just because he didn't need to.

They had reached the far gates, overlooking the rolling hills outside of Camelot's walls. The green was spotted with red capes in the distance.

_Guinevere._

He knew Merlin saw them too, and he couldn't help but start off at a jog, then a run, then a sprint as his knights of the round table urged their mounts faster and they meet up in the middle of knee-high grass.

Arthur only waited long enough to help her down from the saddle before he had her in his arms. Their lips met, and then she pulled away, looking him over, asking too many questions for him to answer all at once, as always. He held her close to his chest, her chin resting against his working lungs, her hands holding his scab-covered neck.

The knights were all taking turns punching Merlin's shoulders, ruffling his hair, picking him up and squeezing him tight. Lancelot and Merlin's forehead's touch in a warrior's acknowledgement.

"Thank you, Merlin. I don't know how you did it, but thank you," Arthur heard Lancelot say.

"Eight days," Gwen scolded, pushing him away this time. "Eight days, Arthur. I didn't know if Morgana had won, whether I should go back by foot. I didn't know if you were still alive."

"I'm sorry—"

Arthur met Merlin's eyes for a moment. Then Gwen kissed him.

And the ghosts retreated.


	9. Chapter 9

**9\. ****Guard of Vambrace**

a. Allows movement in the elbow while protecting the gap

* * *

Above them towered a dark, steep incline that comprised the mountain's lower reaches—barren, desolate rock face washed by the kingdom's perpetual rains and polished to sea-glass smoothness by the grit-laden wind.

It was raining and frothing with currents of warm wind from overseas now, and Arthur had to for a moment bury himself in his cloak, feeling as if his face and hands both had been scoured to bone.

"Arthur!" Gwaine shouted over the elements. "We have to set up camp. The chafing between my legs—"

"I don't want to hear it," Arthur growled. But when he looked over his men—Percy, Gwaine, Lancelot, Leon, and Merlin—he knew that Gwaine was right. They needed to stop. And they needed to stop soon.

Arthur wiped at the dripping strings of hair in his eyes before he grabbed onto the first of the small crevices they would have to pray were strong enough to hold them.

"There's an overhang a short climb upwards. We'll go in twos, make sure no one's left at the bottom. Be careful, will you? And watch your partner."

Percy and Leon tied in to each other, Percy leading. Lancelot and Merlin tied in together, Lancelot taking some of the pack weight off of Merlin's back to even themselves out. Arthur held out his belay rope to Gwaine.

"C'mon, Gwaine," he muttered darkly.

"Are we partners now?" Gwaine snagged his end of the rope.

"I'm half a mind to tie it wrong and watch you drop."

But soon they were both digging their stubby fingernails into the cracks and heaving themselves upward.

They reached shelter with relative ease, Arthur only slipping up and clanging his greaves a few breath-stealing times from the slickness of the cliff.

"Gwaine, get up," he said, taking Gwaine's arm and all but throwing him into the cave. _"Let's go,_ Merlin. You climb like a girl."

They were too far down to hear him well over the storm.

Arthur walked into the mouth, hearing the rain become a rumble overhead and thanking his father for being oblivious to his years climbing castle towers.

Leon already had a fire started, and the inside of the dank portico nodded jovially in the orange glow.

Arthur started shucking off layers of armour, wet clothing, and gear, tossing it in a heap at the back. Leon and Percy followed suit, trying to revive the wet blankets they had tagged on their backs to a state of dampness at best by the flames.

They were huddled in the back around the fire, watching in amusement as Lancelot and Merlin hauled the heavy gear into the outcropping and settled miserably in a puddle that smelled like wet canine.

"About time. Did you get lost?" Arthur said, resting his chin on his fist, his elbow on his knee, sitting at the fire and feeling the warmth start to remap the blood in his toes. Their outlines in the darkness slumped. "That was a jest. I didn't mean to hurt your soaked feelings worse."

Merlin was fumbling with the belay rope with numb hands. "Prat."

"What, do you forget the cliffs I climbed to get that bloody flower back to you?"

"Repressing traumatic memories is my foremost way of recuperating from your earliest days." Merlin still worked at the rope.

"Prat yourself."

Lancelot drew his knife and snapped the rope. "It's still plenty long for the next climb," he said. Merlin sagged even more.

"We sleep here for now. But we have a lot of progress to make up for tomorrow. If the storm lets up, we may yet take the lower summit tonight." Arthur was wringing out his hair and hearing the sizzle as the water hit the embers.

His knights gathered in piles of wrinkled wool and hung their capes where they could to dry. Then Lancelot took first watch, and they fell into fitful sleep.

* * *

Darkness was fast evaporating by the time they had packed up camp, and were heading out of the outcropping with stiff clothes and creaking backs.

They tied in once again: Leon and Percy, Merlin and Lancelot, Arthur and Gwaine.

The second half of the climb was far worse.

There was no rain, no scullery wind. But the mountainside rose in sheer cliffs punctuated by the slimmest cracks and crevices, stuffed with mosses and lichens, to the point where Arthur was stooping low enough to ask Gwaine whether it looked like safe enough purchase from his vantage point as a second opinion before he lodged his fingers in to go higher.

The work bloody hurt, even with the assistance of belays and partners and a crisp morning, a dry day. Arthur prided himself on being a naturally talented climber, but not even he could make quick ground.

He risked a glance backwards, at Merlin and Lancelot, who were close behind by some miracle. And still on the cliff. Not in a fringe-and-bone pile at the bottom.

"Okay there, Merlin? Lancelot?" Gwaine shouted, looking back when he saw Arthur's gaze.

"Keep your big feet moving," Merlin shouted. "We'll pass you at this rate."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but grabbed the next closes handhold.

He had estimated a few hours' climb to the summit. But by the time they were two-thirds up, the sun was setting behind them, painting the rocks beneath their sore and bleeding fingers with a magenta glow, burning as if they had been climbing downwards into death's realm instead of upwards toward the heavens.

"Bloody hell," Gwaine said for the hundredth time, one of his more milder complaints. "I'm starting to think not even vengeance against Morgana is worth this."

Gwaine took a step, and the shards of rock crackled and exploded under his boot, dropping like a torrent of arrowheads.

"Watch your feet, Gwaine," Arthur hissed, lobbing his arm over another crevice and relying on his bone structure to support the heave more than his aching shoulder muscles.

Arthur looked down at just the moment the shower reached Merlin and Lancelot.

"Look out—!" he started, but it was too late.

The shard heavy with motion came down off the center of Lancelot's nose, starting a gush of blood that leaped eagerly and immediately down his shirt and cloak. Lancelot bent over nearly in half, and Merlin scrambled up closer to him, their line hanging in a long, even u-shape between them.

Merlin shoved his fingers up to his knuckles in a crevice, then with the other hand free, took a closer look at Lancelot's face.

"Did you see what happened?" Merlin shouted up to Gwaine and Arthur.

"Rock shower. A sharp one hit his nose when he looked up," Arthur said, glaring at Gwaine. "How is he?"

Lancelot let Merlin wipe at the blood ooze. "A little dizzy, but I'll be fine. I can still see."

"Sire!" The call came from where Arthur couldn't see, over the top of the ridge the four of them currently clung to. "I think this is a false summit, but it's leveled out!"

Leon's news let all of them take an easy breath.

"I'll fix your nose when we get there," Merlin promised. "Just let me—"

He went to grab the next hold.

Arthur turned to resume the climb.

He heard a rumble, then a snap. When he whipped around again there was Merlin, loosing a sizeable _boulder _from the cliff side, and began a long decent with it still cradled against his pelvis and the crook of his elbow.

Lancelot let go his left handhold and seized Merlin's hand—the same one that protected the rock—as he slid past, clawing at the stone for purchase. Arthur saw as Merlin's weight wrenched at Lancelot's shoulder.

Merlin's mouth opened to scream, but nothing came out. Instead, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he went limp in Lancelot's grip.

"Another rope! Leon, Percival! Hurry!" Lancelot ground out, blood beginning to work its way down his cheeks again. _"Hurry!"_

Leon and Percival worked a length of knotted cord down from the false summit, passing Arthur and Gwaine who still held the same place, unmoving in fear of loosing any more rocks. When it reached Lancelot, it dawned on him.

_They couldn't tie it. They didn't have enough hands to tie the rope._

"Gwaine, we've got to go back for them. They can't tie the rope."

Gwaine's frightened eyes met his. "We could kill them."

"They might die anyway." Arthur began to call back up to the top. "Give us another length! We're going back down for them."

Percival shook down another rope. "Be careful, Sire."

Arthur stared for another moment at the looming talus below.

They tied up and Percival pulled twice to make sure the rope would hold. Then they started to climb down.

"I… can't…" Lancelot was hissing. "Arthur!"

"We're coming!"

_Hold on, hold on hold on hold on._

Merlin jolted back to consciousness as Arthur and Gwaine slid down another few feet of mountain closer to the two. His fingers of the loosed arm flexed and scraped for something to hold onto. The one in Lancelot's hand didn't move.

"Merlin—" Lancelot's whole body was shaking.

Arthur turned to the rock as they closed the distance. Gwaine snatched the dangling length meant for Merlin and Lancelot and began to tie and knot with sailor's precision. Arthur grabbed hold of Merlin's other arm.

They held each other's gaze. Merlin's eyes were perfect reflections of the setting sun, rimmed with orange, his own silhouette being framed by a halo. There was a surge of strength that went up his arm, and Merlin's fingers tightened around his wrist.

"Secure, they're secure! We're good," Gwaine yelled.

For a moment, there was only the strength of the cables holding them up as they pulled free from the cliff face. They traced a lazy half-circle in mid-air.

Gwaine started to laugh a breathless, crazed laugh. "Holy f—"

At the end of their tether, they slammed back into the unforgiving stone with more than a few curses from more than a few traditions.

Percy and Leon began to haul, the foursome helping where they could with their wound-up muscles and shot adrenaline.

"I can't get my arm to work," Merlin croaked. Arthur risked turning around.

From his shoulder to the tips of his fingers, his arm was covered in blood. The joints looked all wrong at the elbow, at the wrist.

His manservant worked his good fingers—whatever that meant anymore— into a handhold, but couldn't manage anything past that stage.

Percy's voice came from above. "I can't lift them without their help."

The sunlight was failing, and the dampness of the night before was beginning to close down on the looming peaks like a smothering fist.

"Drop the pack."

Merlin glared at him. "This is all our supplies. For _weeks_. We need them."

"You need your _skin_ more," Arthur growled. Merlin tried again to pull himself upward with no result. Arthur softened his tone. "It's my decision—I'm telling you to _drop the pack_ and I'll take responsibility of whatever's to come."

Merlin hesitated.

_"Bloody hell_, Merlin, we're all going to fall!"

Merlin winced, then began to struggle and shrug. The heavy load of plummeted downward into the mist.

No one heard the impact.

* * *

The six men lay on the uneven plateau of the false summit.

"So," Arthur said, thoroughly out of breath, his heart still pounding. "We need the medical kit."

"Was in my pack," Merlin moaned.

"We'll make do with what's in mine," Lancelot said, shrugging off his own pack. His face seemed to be expanding, swollen to the point where his eyes were beginning to look small underneath all the inflammation.

"There'll be a shelter somewhere around here. We are not the only travelers that take that dangerous climb," Leon said, solemnly shouldering Lancelot's pack without him asking for someone to take it. "We should move while there's still some light, and we still have some vigor in us."

Arthur thought he had lost his vigor when he had taken Merlin's hand, and had seen the flash of his scared, almost golden eyes.

Percy threw one of Lancelot's arms over his shoulder, and it was an awkward arrangement, but in it Lancelot stopped walking so drunken-looking, and they could make faster ground. Gwaine put a coil of rope over each of his shoulders. Leon had the pack.

"Well, come on then, Merlin."

Merlin glared, posture stiffening as he held his arm out and Arthur pulled it over his shoulder.

"You smell terrible," Merlin muttered.

"Yeah? Well, fear does that to you."

It was out of his mouth before he truly processed how true it was.

The group walked at a shuffle for another hour, until the sky had gone the color of the bruises on their knees and elbows. Lancelot's face had stopped gushing blood. Merlin's arm was still pretty useless, and his steps were getting smaller, closer together. Arthur thought he was hearing a grinding sound, but he couldn't tell if it was his teeth or Merlin's bones.

Leon halted the group. "This was my mistake. There's nothing for miles around us. We'll settle where we can, use each other for warmth."

Gwaine groaned.

The men began to unload, creating a circle of cloths and swords and boots. Merlin didn't join them, only squinted ahead.

Arthur had to swallow hard to keep down the same feeling he got before he walked out of a tournament tent. "Merlin? Are you still with us?"

Just staring.

"I've seen men do this before, go into this stupor after an injury," Leon said from behind Arthur. "We need to keep him warm, let him lay down."

Arthur nodded silently. "Right. Do the men…"

But he didn't want to know the answer, so he didn't finish the question.

With a gentle hand, Leon guided Merlin into the small makeshift camp that had been created. They felt the night air as a knifing chill, a ravenous mouth gnawing at their already abused flesh.

"You stay with Merlin. I should collect some wood for a fire." Though there was nothing but the cantankerous sky and themselves, turncoat rocks, and long lengths of rope. Lightning flashed overhead, momentarily throwing his companions in stark contrast.

It also seemed to ignite the profile of a…

Merlin spoke. "There's a house up ahead."

All eyes turned to him.

"Merlin," Leon said quietly. "Come lay down. We'll take a look at that shoulder."

But Merlin continued to frown at the East, toward where he had caught a glimpse of a low roof.

Arthur looked up at the gathering clouds for patience.

"I say we go look for Merlin's house." Arthur couldn't believe he said it. Lancelot's puffy face whipped up from where he was arranging what supplies he could from his pack. "Whoever is there is used to this mountainous life. We don't tell them who we are, we stow our cloaks, and we take advantage of another kingdom's hospitality for one night. It's not the most dangerous thing we've done today."

There was some weary shoving of feet into boots once again, and more shuffling of weight and duties.

"On your lead, Sire." Lancelot's voice.

Arthur looped Merlin over his shoulder once again.

* * *

They made Gwaine knock.

It had begun to rain again, dousing them in their weight in water and making it nearly impossible to slug through the mountain brush. But the house wasn't some mirage concocted from their exhaustion and desperation. Gwaine's knuckles on wood assured them of that.

Two small faces appeared in the door, barely the height of Gwaine's knee.

"It's raining," the first small face said, confusion twisting his face. "Why are you outside?"

"We've been asking ourselves the same question. Are your guardians within?" Gwaine wiped at his face, his dark curls flattening onto his shoulders and on his forehead. "My friends are hurt."

The second face scowled at Lancelot, who's face now resembled an over-ripe berry. "Did you make the climb up the Saint's cliff?"

"Barely," Arthur said under his breath. The child heard him.

"Fenrou will want to see you then."

The door opened farther, the children stepping to the side. They all but collapsed inside.

A wide-mouthed fireplace held wood but was not lit, a large fur rug on the ground housing a dog that may as well have been part of the rug as well. From the ceiling hung metal tools that Arthur couldn't name, different ropes of different thicknesses, and candles housed in clay containers. Water basins sat full in a corner, still quivering from the pattern of rain they once were.

The children ran to the dog, who only raised his head groggily before flopping back down, smothered by the two bodies.

"This is Fenrou," said the child who had opened the door, with the light red curls and big hands. Arthur caught Percy and Lancelot exchanging worried looks. "He protects the travelers who make it up Saint's cliffs."

A bell of a laugh. The other child, with lighter hair still, was giggling. "I've seen him swallow poisonous spiders _whole. _Is that what happened to your friends?"

Poisonous spiders?

"No, they were caught in a rock slide. It was my fault," Gwaine said. He sat sopping wet on the rug and started to itch Fenrou behind his ears. "Is Fenrou your guardian?"

Red hair nodded proudly. "He protects the travelers who make it up Saint's cliffs."

"That would be us," Gwaine grinned. "Fenrou, you'll protect us, won't you?

And if Arthur wasn't feeble-minded with exhaustion, he would have sworn the dog nodded.

* * *

The children's names were Caoimhe and Odhrán.

Percy helped them start their fire, helped them carry the large cast iron pot to its hook inside the flames.

Fenrou sat next to Merlin's legs, large nose tucked into his injured elbow with the gentleness of a mother's touch. His hot breath was lulling Merlin to sleep as he lay on the rug with the large hound.

Arthur sat looking through the small crack in the door. The rain hadn't relented, and it made a deep ache in his bones that almost rivaled his muscles protestations from the arduous climb.

"If you gentlemen—and humble hound host—can rouse yourselves sufficiently to eat, dinner is served."

Gwaine gave a flourished bow. Caoimhe snorted, took her spoon and clunkedhim on the back of his thighs. Odhrán latched onto his arm and pulled until Gwaine sat on the rug as well, all three of them settling in the tufts in a heap.

The mention of food was more than enough incentive for the group to reconvene, shaking off their torpor and squint at the now-roaring fire. Arthur was pulled toward the hearth as well, stomach growling.

Caoimhe and Odhrán crouched beside the pile of groggy knights with their lined faces glowing with windburn and warmth.

"Do you feed all of the travelers that come up the mountain?" Percy asked in his quiet voice as Caoimhe ladled him a bowl full of chunky stew.

"Fenrou does." A simple, heroic answer that didn't match the lazy dog that continued to drool on Merlin.

Percy only gave a soft smile, and began to devour the food with his fingers, barely noticing the scalding liquid on his chaft and calloused fingertips.

Food was distributed carefully so as not to burn the jutting knees and hands made clumsy by the numbing cold. They thanked the children and Fenrou (some more hesitant than others) and dug into the thick stew.

"Do you let travelers rest here for the night?" Arthur asked, the first time he had spoken since arriving at the house. The children studied him, then looked at each other.

"Yes," said Odhrán. "In exchange for payment."

Arthur could have figured. Just like any inn they may have stopped at on their way. He agreed to their terms through a mouthful of stew that burned all the way down his throat and tried to warm the pit of his stomach that was determinedly not looking at Merlin, who's fingertips were still blue despite the heat of the food and the fire.

"We want your best stories," Caoimhe said, forcing a bowl into Merlin's hands.

Merlin started. "I-I-sorry? What?"

"Your stories. Fenrou chose you, so you must have the best stories. Eat, and rest, and tonight we'll listen to your best tales."

Merlin looked to Arthur. "I-I surely, not me. I'm as boring as an old toad."

Odhrán shrugged. "Fenrou likes toads."

Arthur found himself smiling despite himself.

"If we are to listen to Merlin's wonderful, adventure stories tonight, we need to work to heal our wounds. Do you have bandages?" Leon had taken careful stock of what they had in their remaining pack, and it was not enough. Especially because Lancelot seemed to still be expanding.

Caoimhe rose from her spot on the rug, pointing to the ceiling. "We have many surgical tools and lots of supplies. Climbing is dangerous. Even we get hurt sometimes."

She said surgical tools like she knew how to use them.

"I'm sure we won't need surgical tools," Lancelot said, eyeing with his slits the saw dangling from the beams. "But our friend is training as a physician. Maybe you could show us what you have, and he could tell us how to fix what we need?"

Caoimhe went to a large chest in the back of the house, pulling out sealed jars full of crushed colors. Loading her arms full, she returned to the rug and set them out in three circles.

"These are for aching joints and climber's hands," she said. Percy helped Merlin sit up.

"Henbane and hemlock," Merlin identified. "Rose, lavender, sage, wormwood. This is an impressive stock, Caoimhe. Are you a healer yourself?"

She returned to the chest. "Fenrou is."

_Right, _Arthur thought. _Fenrou is the healer._ Of course.

More jars were placed by Merlin's feet.

"Mint, coriander, and…" Merlin hesitated, opening the lid and sniffing a clear liquid that swished around in its cell. He wrinkled his nose. "Vinegar. My teacher would be proud, he loves this stuff."

"For drinking?" Odhrán said, horrified.

"No! For cleaning wounds. Here." Merlin took off his neckerchief and dribbled the foul-smelling vinegar onto it. Then he placed it overtop of his torn elbow. Fenrou moved his nose to sit on top of Merlin's pelvis, his heavy breaths rippling Merlin's thin tunic.

Merlin himself was trying to match Fenrou's inhales and exhales, eyes squeezed shut. His ears turned red.

"It stings," Caoimhe stated.

Merlin exhaled. "Yes."

"But it staves off infection."

Inhale. "Yes."

Caoimhe tilted her head, taking in Merlin with a studied gaze. "Yes, that makes sense. Who else has wounds that need cleansing?"

For the next while, they passed cloths and vinegar between them, feeling the sting in their fingers deep, as if the liquid was trying to overtake their very veins by force. Lancelot hesitated before he went to put it to his face.

Merlin pointed to the circles of herbs. "Henbane and hemlock for you, Lancelot. Let's get the swelling and ache down before we go to scare your nose off of your face."

Caoimhe ground up the mixture, showing it to Merlin every so often, until he was satisfied, if not impressed.

"Really, not a healer?" Merlin asked again as the girl passed the bowl to Odhrán who marched over to Lancelot.

"Fenrou brings us what the next travelers will need."

Merlin subscribed himself coriander after he had Caoimhe test his temperature with the back of her small hand. Rose, lavender, and sage filled the one room house with a sweet, earthy smell as Odhrán mixed it with a stone against a stone. Then, that too was passed around for their sore muscles. They bound their hands and fingers the way the children showed them, loops around their fingers to protect their skin, thick pads on their palms.

Fenrou continued to breathe into Merlin's abdomen.

The stew settled heavily in their stomachs. The herbs and medicines were put away. Percy put more logs on the fire. Even inside, the fire did not entirely blunt the cold's edge—icy wind tore at the thin slats in their wooden refuge, seeping through the frigid ground beneath the rug.

A friendly silence gathered around them as the candles burned low, and the hearth chattered merrily.

"It's good to have guests on rainy days," Odhrán said, unbinding his hands after his tutorial was finished. "When travelers are inside during the worst, there is a much better chance we will not be burying them days from now."

Percy's face went white. "You bury the climbers that don't… that don't make it?"

Caoimhe dug her fingers into the rug. "Saint's cliffs are dangerous. Sometimes, not even Fenrou can protect travelers."

Arthur looked into his empty bowl.

* * *

It must have been well past midnight by the time dinner was finished and packed away, the leftovers giving in a generous helping to the hound, who ignored it in favor of snotting on Merlin.

The men all felt like drifting off, the pounding of the rain taking the last of their reservations and mixing them to nothing with the smell of lavender.

Odhrán sprawled out next to Fenrou, itching the top of the wolf-looking dog's head.

"He needs more time to work. Put your hand on him so it's more concentrated," he said directly to Merlin, who seemed to understand the nonsensical sentence.

Caoimhe pulled at Gwaine's tunic. "Will you tell a story first, then?"

Gwaine gave a mischievous smirk. "What kind of story?"

"One of bravery, and magic, and good over evil."

The room stilled, as if everyone took a breath in and held it. Arthur felt his stomach drop, heavy as the stone that fell from the cliff in Merlin's hands.

"Magic is evil," Arthur started the speech, his tongue moving for him, his brain not even needing to think for it to come out second nature. "We won't tell stories that will influence you poorly."

He could have said, the only stories he had with magic in them he was the one to destroy it, snuff it out. He could have said those stories didn't feel very brave anymore, or that good and evil were getting cloudy for him, mixing into grays and browns. He didn't say any of it.

"I'll tell a story." Gwaine waved the awkwardness away, batting at Arthur's ear which he dodged. "About a race on an island where the horses could run so fast that their hooves would hover for seconds at a time over the sand."

Odhrán flew to the back of the cabin again, this time coming back with a small, silk pouch which he opened, and handed a silhouette to Gwaine.

"It's a puppet. Like this," the boy showed Gwaine how to move the shadow man's arms and legs. He pulled out a horse, and a woman, and a fish. "Will these do to tell the story?"

Gwaine nodded, his features gone as soft as Arthur had ever seen them, those shadows sitting in his wrapped hands.

"Tell it then, Gwaine."

And he did.

* * *

He was not always so clever. Gwaine learned his cleverness from a stable full of race horses, their muscles powerful and stringy. One horse in particular, with a coat the same color as the sand on the beaches beyond the stable, would nuzzle young Gwaine's neck and try and eat his long hair.

There was a day that when the boy snuck into the stable, his friend was gone.

He looked all over the island, in all the places a horse could hide. Finally, when he thought he had lost his friend for good, he met a drunk.

There were lots of drunks where young Gwaine lived. Gwaine was usually one of them. But never, never when he went to visit the stable.

"Horses?" the drunk man slurred. "Horses? I ain't seen a horse around here since I was a boy. Your drunk—" but Gwaine wasn't drunk, because he was going to go visit the stable, the man was drunk, you see. "—go home, and die in a hole."

That's truly, that's what the drunk man said to a sober Gwaine.

So young Gwaine thought he might as well follow the drunk man's advice. He at the very least was good at digging holes, he had some practice because…

Because young Gwaine lost a lot, which is why he was sometimes drunk.

But never when he went to the stables.

When he arrived at home, though, he found the horse that was the color of sand. His father had bought him, put a saddle on his back and a bit in his mouth. They were going off to fight some other drunk man's war, two of the… two of the bravest…

Young Gwaine couldn't let them go. Stealing one would stop them both, and young Gwaine very well couldn't steal his father. So he stole the horse.

At first, riding was strange. Gwaine couldn't get his feet to flop against the horse's sides, then when he could, he couldn't get himself to sit down right. They had traveled half the island by the time he was in sync with the beast.

They had reached the beaches. And there were other boys, and even a girl, who had stolen their fathers' and brothers' horses to stop them from leaving.

And none of them were drunk. Though usually they were.

But not that day.

One of the fathers found them, drew his sword and pointed it at them. He yelled at them, told them to go home and return the horses so that their fathers and brothers could fight a war.

So they raced.

And the horses went so fast that their feet didn't touch the ground. They were flying—sand spraying up on every side like cannon fire was upon them, in perfect rhythm with the horses that weren't theirs but were as surely in tune with their spirits as if they were just an extension of themselves. Gwaine road his horse into the water's edge, and salt spray tickled his nose and stung the sides of his legs.

The island wasn't very large. In a half an hour of hard riding, the children had circled the whole place—took in its giant, stretching cliffs and green mossy hills, rocky beaches, sandy beaches—and they could have kept riding.

Can you imagine it?

They could have kept riding like that for eons, for as long as they were old.

And Gwaine had never been so glad he hadn't followed the drunk's advice, that he was awake and could feel every sensation around him.

Because you know what? You know what?

When they reached the farthest edge from home, his horse stopped. And Gwaine could tell he was meant to get off. He was drawn to the edge, still feeling like he was flying so his legs were all wrong. His toes touched the sea.

There was an eye. Gwaine had seen it, as clear as anything he had ever known in his life.

And you know what it was? It was a _whale._

The horse walked in behind him. Until the horse was up to his belly, and Gwaine was up to his neck. The whale was small, just a calf, but it was still larger than both Gwaine and the horse.

I touched it, right besides its eye.

I didn't get to win the race, if it was a race you could win. All the horses were taken away the next day, even the one I rode that was the color of sand, taking the fathers and brothers with them.

But I had looked into the eyes of a whale.

* * *

Gwaine set down the silhouettes, looking down shyly.

"What did the whale say?" Caoimhe whispered.

"Nothing," Gwaine said choppily. "Whales don't talk. Not even on islands where horses can fly. If you run them fast enough."

Percy added another log to the fire.

Fenrou still breathed into Merlin.

"It was a good story," Odhrán said, beaming. "I've never seen a whale."

Gwaine's eyes twinkled. "Sometimes I see its eye again, but only when I'm drunk now. Never when I'm sober, like I did then."

Lancelot's arm found its way to Gwaine's shoulder, and he pulled him into a sideways embrace.

"T'was a good story. Let's hear another," he cheered. The room agreed.

Merlin was starting to look less peaky, the tips of his fingers sitting on the dog's head looking less blue. He still held his arm so as not to disrupt the healing wounds and joint. But he sat up slightly, mindful of the sleeping dog.

"All right, I've got one." He had on his cheekiest smile, and he met Arthur's eyes. He took the silhouettes from Gwaine and handed two women to Percy for assistance in the telling, then handed the broad-shouldered shadow to Arthur.

"It starts not long ago, back in a kingdom that raises the bravest of warriors the world has ever seen. It was the first and last time I've ever worn real armour."

* * *

The raiders came at the stroke of midnight, at the very beginning of the harvest season. It wasn't the first time raiders had threatened this small village named Ealdor—which is why a kindly farmer saved some of the harvest in his house so that his village wouldn't starve. My mother stood up to a raider named Kanen, first by trying to stop him, next by going to the leader of a place called Camelot.

She pleaded with the king of Camelot to protect Ealdor, but because the village was not part of Camelot he couldn't send soldiers. So I went back with my mother, leaving behind my friends—my best friend, whom I served.

But my friends are stubborn. When I went to find a sword, they all said they would come with me. Because I was their friend, and my home was in danger.

When we arrived, Kanen and his raiders had arrived also. The men were twice our size, with big, bulky arms and fat necks and armour pieced together from the other villages they raided for money. He threatened the village, saying he would destroy it and everyone inside of it unless we gave up every last bit of our harvest.

My village was a peaceful one, and my childhood friend Will did not want to see his people suffer. He wanted to do what Kanen asked. Arthur said no.

Arthur was a new friend, one I served then and still serve today. He's good all the way down to the marrow of his bones, and deeper still. He's a complete idiot though, but I can tell you that because you seem like the kind of people that can keep a secret.

He said, "Unless we fight today, all of your tomorrows will belong to fear."

Arthur, you should be talking your puppet. Like that, there. Better.

The next morning came, and Kanen's men left to get weapons to destroy the village with. But they had unwittingly lent us time to prepare.

Arthur started with lessons in sword fighting, and farmers took up their rakes and hoes and fists. The men weren't all that good, so my friends Gwen and Morgana thought the women should take up arms. Arthur was an idiot, though, remember, so he said no.

Even while the village prepared, we lost one of our own. One of my neighbors was killed on watch for the raiders, and with his body was a note saying that there would be a massacre in the morning. William blamed Arthur for his death.

And remember, Arthur is an idiot, so he believed him.

But I knew my village, and I knew Arthur, and Gwen and Morgana, and Will too. I knew they were stronger than they thought.

When Kanen's men came, you should have heard Arthur's speech.

He said: "This is your home. I'd be honoured to stand alongside of you if you stay and defend it. Look around you—in this circle, we're all equals. You're not fighting because someone's ordering you to, you're fighting for so much more than that. You fight for your homes, for your family, your friends, for the right to grow crops in peace. And when you're old and gray, you'll look back on this day, and you'll know you earned the right to live every day in between! So you fight! For Ealdor!"

And there was cheering—like I'd never heard before, loud and somber and joyous all at the same time. The women cheered and raised swords and tools too.

And not just the women got swords. I got a sword.

And a full suit of armour—greaves to vambrace—that was so heavy I could barely move around. We helped each other dress. I couldn't buckle anything, I was shaking so badly. I thought that maybe… that would be the last time we saw each other like we always had.

But I was wrong.

When Kanen's men arrived, the village looked empty. But we had rigged gates to trap their horses, and fire to scare them away. My friends fought side by side. There was so many of them—forty, maybe fifty men trained to kill—but Arthur was an idiot, and didn't know when to admit defeat. He fought, and fought.

And then… my friend, Will…

A thunderstorm was conjured, and the bandits knew they could not win against a storm and Arthur, and a village full of brave people. Arthur knew the storm was magic. But Will saved his life in the end, sacrificing himself when Kanen went to shoot him in the back.

We couldn't save Will.

But when the clouds parted, the sun came back up. The villagers of Ealdor wouldn't starve. My friends and I traveled back to Camelot, and my mother would live in a village where they weren't threatened by bandits or raiders for a long time to come.

* * *

Arthur was still stuck in Ealdor when the story finished.

He remembered it so differently, that even holding the shadow of himself with his shadow sword, it felt like a foreign tale. Will had taken that arrow for him, that much was familiar. But Merlin had all but taken out his role in the battle, the way he had hard tested his armour by running across the battlefield to start the blazing fire, the way he had convinced Arthur to keep going, keep faith that he was doing the right thing after the body of that man had been dragged back in from the outskirts.

"That was the perfect story," Caoimhe breathed.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Yes, well. Bravery. Magic. Good and evil. A protagonist that wins the war because of his stupidity."

"It was pretty good, wasn't it?" Merlin said, letting the Merlin shadow do a jig on Fenrou's head. "The hero's in the story make all the difference."

Arthur turned away, watching Lancelot's eyes droop closed (though the distance wasn't far to go), then Gwaine's fight the same fate.

"That's not how it went," Arthur worked up the guts to argue. He made his shadow swing his sword back and forth, looked at the shadow Morgana with a sword and tried not to feel the pang his heart did.

"Well, how did it go then?" Odhrán asked.

"Merlin was at the center of it all. The idiot Arthur? He might've taught the village how to fight, but it was _Merlin _that helped win the day."

"Tell it again then," Caoimhe said, pushing shadow Merlin back into his hands. "Tell it the way that Arthur saw it."

Arthur shook his head. "I'm not a good storyteller."

There was a moment where the rain seemed to scold him for his cowardice.

"Another story," Odhrán said, letting Arthur off the hook after a long moment, looking from the dog to Merlin. "Please. You must stay awake while Fenrou works."

Merlin rubbed his eyes, but obliged.

He told the story of Arthur's melee. Then the story of the time Gwaine and him stole a cake from the cooks. A story about a hunting trip where he found a burrow full of thirteen baby rabbits so young their eyes hadn't opened. A story about the most beautiful lake he had ever seen. A story of him and Will as children. The story of how Arthur and Merlin met.

"It's funny now," Merlin protested as the children giggled behind their hands as to not wake the knights. Arthur was lying on his back, his eyes closed, but not sleeping. He wondered how many others were doing the same. "But _then_ I thought I was headed to my funeral pyre."

The fire was dwindling.

"How are you feeling?" Odhrán asked.

"Better, thank you. Will he help Lancelot too?"

Arthur stilled.

"He might." Caoimhe said, quieter still. "You helped him help you. But you already knew that."

Merlin grunted. It sounded as though someone was prodding him. "Through the stories?"

"Yes. And through who you are."

There was the near-silent patter of feet as the last of the candles were snuffed.

* * *

Breakfast came before Arthur had truly felt as though he had fallen asleep, stuck in the in between world of thoughts and dreams.

Gwaine was testing his stiff fingers as they packed and re-wrapped their hands just as the children had taught them. Arthur found it easier to follow their instructions now. They seemed older in the sunlight.

"I'm glad that Fenrou will see us off," Gwaine said, looking at the dog, who was still in the house. "Are you sure he's not part of the rug?"

Odhrán laughed. "We're sure. Be careful."

_They don't want to have to bury us._

Their single pack had been re-stocked with flint and medical supplies, more lavender for their aching backs and shoulders and calves. Merlin's arm was in a sling around his neck, but they taught him how to wrap the rope around him so that he could get more weight in his legs, less stress for his wounds.

"Thank you for all that you've done," Arthur said, putting a wrapped hand on each of the children's shoulders. "Saint's cliffs are in good hands. Though you're sure you'll be all right alone?"

"We're not alone," Caoimhe amended. "You're stories will keep us company until the next travelers come along. And Fenrou will protect us."

"I suppose he will," Arthur said. He pulled a rope into his arms. "Ready Merlin?"

Merlin paused to bury his face in Fenrou's fur one last time, breathing a _thank you_ into his neck. Fenrou's ears twitched.

"I'm coming," Merlin called. He tugged on one of Odhrán's curls, then flicked at Caoimhe's ear. "If you ever see her, the lake I mean, will you tell her hello for me?"

The children nodded. And Arthur thought for a moment, they looked like the mountains themselves.

But them Merlin was at his side.

"That was real, wasn't it?" Merlin said, his voice bolstered by a sunlight day and a full stomach and a night full of storytelling with a dog in his lap. Arthur could hear all of it, spilling out of him and lifting his spirits even as he tried to tamp them down.

"Merlin, I... I hope it was."

They left to reach for the summit once more.


End file.
